A First Time for Everything
by MyLittleYellowBird
Summary: Shelagh's first year away from the Order is one of many new challenges. A now complete (!) multi-chapter exploration of those "firsts." Enjoying some time with my favorites, where they live comfortably with Neal Street Productions.
1. Ch 1 A First Year

Author's note: After dipping my toe in the "M" section, I'm back to where I feel most comfortable. My plan is for this story to be a series of chapters depicting the new challenges Shelagh had to face in her new life. Again, thank you all for the lovely supportive words.

* * *

Light filtered in through the bedroom windows. Patrick stirred, waking slowly. Used to erratic sleep patterns, he started to plan when he would be able to squeeze in a nap later that day. It was Sunday, so no clinics or calls today. The whole day free to-

His eyes opened suddenly. Right there, inches away, were his wife and their new daughter. Shelagh smiled down at him. "Good morning, dearest," she whispered. Tiny Angela was curled up in her mother's arms, asleep.

Grinning widely, Patrick answered with a light kiss. He sat up and looked at the infant closely. "Did you get any sleep?" he asked his wife.

"No. I couldn't stop looking at her. She's so perfect! Patrick, dearest, I can't believe how very lucky we are. I didn't want to waste a moment sleeping."

Patrick chuckled. "You'll feel differently, soon enough. Before you know it, you'll be begging for her to sleep so you can nap, or straighten the kitchen, or even take a bath." The baby stirred, making that sweet mewl only a newborn baby can.

"I know. But right now, I'm going to enjoy this while the adrenaline keeps me going. This was our first night together, after all."

"Yes. The first of many firsts, sweetheart." Something flickered in Patrick's memory."Oh!" he whispered excitedly. "I can't believe I forgot!"

He carefully got out of the bed and crossed to his chest of drawers. Opening his sock drawer, he removed a small gaily wrapped box.

"This is for you," he whispered. "But it's just from me, this time."

"Patrick? Whatever for?"

"I meant to give this to you yesterday, after the choir competition." He had a wide smile on his face. "Can you guess why?"

Shelagh puzzled. "No. I have no idea." She turned the package over in her hand, her other still cradling the baby.

"What was yesterday? Aside from Angela's birthday?" he nudged.

"Saturday?"

"More."

"The 31st?"

"More," he chuckled.

"Patrick, I have no idea."

"What happened a year ago yesterday?" he was enjoying this. Usually Shelagh was the one to remember the details.

Her brow furrowed in concentration. A smile broke out on her face, lighting the room more than the sunshine filtering in. "Oh, Patrick." Tears were forming in her eyes.

"Tell me what happened a year ago yesterday," he asked again.

"You were on the right road," her voice a hushed whisper.

"Yes," he kissed her again. "And we made a start." Pressing his forehead to hers, "Open it."

Shelagh nodded. "You'll have to help me."

Deftly, Patrick took his daughter in his arms, careful not to wake her.

Slowly unwrapping the gift, Shelagh smiled shyly at her husband. "I'm sorry I don't have anything for you, though."

"You've given me more than you could know, Shelagh darling."

The paper drifted to the bed, and Shelagh opened the small box within. Inside nestled a brooch, a compass dangling from a golden bow. "I was on the right road, because you will always be my True North," he whispered in her ear.

"Oh, Patrick. You're making me cry." Reaching up, she kissed him gently, then deepened the touch. The baby stirred again, showing signs of waking. Pulling away, Shelagh said huskily, "The first of our firsts…"


	2. Ch 2 A First Day

Shelagh's hands shook as she reached out to open the door of Nonnatus House. When she crossed over the threshold, out into the world, she would be doing so as a new person.

She took a deep breath. No, not as a new person, she told herself. "Sister Bernadette" was a name, a symbol of a life as much as "Shelagh" was. The woman inside was still the same. She just had a different place in the world now.

Exactly where that place was, though, was unknown. Squaring her shoulders, Shelagh opened the doors and stepped out into her new life. Patrick stood at the bottom of the stone steps, cigarette in his hand. Timothy sat on the last step, his eyes in a book. Hearing the door close behind her, they both turned to watch her approach.

"You needn't have waited," Shelagh told them.

"I was happy to," Patrick answered nervously. Shelagh realized he must be as uncertain as she. Timothy had kept a monologue going the entire ride back from the misty road. Occasionally glancing at each other, Patrick and Shelagh had said very little. Where should they begin? They had made a start, but now, each overwhelmed by emotions, they were unsure how to continue.

Ever practical, Shelagh tackled the first hurdle in front of her. "Well, I suppose I'll need to find a place to stay."

"You can stay with us," offered Timothy.

Shelagh smiled. "Thank you, Timothy, but I think it would be best if I found a place of my own." She glanced at Patrick. "There's that boarding house on Mile End Road. Mrs. Trevell runs it. She might have a place for me."

"Let me drive you," Patrick asked.

No wanting to argue, and needing the support, Shelagh agreed. "But only a ride there. I'll have quite a lot to do, and it would be best if I did it on my own." The awkward nature of her situation, and its potential for gossip were becoming clear.

"I understand." he paused for a moment. "May I see you again, later?"

"Yes."

"You could have dinner with us!" Timothy interrupted.

"Tim, please. Go wait in the car," his father admonished. Grumbling, the boy complied.

"You could, you know. I'd...I'd like to have dinner with you tonight. It'll probably have to be something simple, though. Housekeeper's day off. I'll come for you about six?" Patrick felt his lungs tighten.

"I'd like that, Patrick." His name still felt strange on her lips, but when she saw his face light up, she was glad she had used it. Smiling back, Shelagh slid into her seat in the car.

"So, would you like to get something for lunch, first?" Patrick asked as the car rolled away from the convent.

"No, thank you. I don't have much of an appetite, these days, I'm afraid. The doctors tell me that will soon come back, though."

"Well, I'm hungry," Timothy piped up from the backseat.

"You're always hungry," his dad laughed. "Don't worry, I won't let you starve. Tim. I'll get you something, later."

* * *

Half an hour later, Shelagh stood in her small second floor room, taking in her surroundings. Mrs. Trevell, a woman known for her discretion, stood in the doorway, explaining the house rules. She had listened to the young woman's story, and wondered how much more there was to it. With a shrug, she decided it didn't really matter. Shelagh Mannion's life had become complicated enough without the interference of a nosy landlady.

"We serve at seven o'clock. You're welcome to spend time in the sitting room after, but we put off the heat by nine. The room's small, but you'll find it's clean. Bathroom is down the hall, first floor. Only other boarders now are Mrs. Flint and the Misses Wilby."

"Thank you, Mrs. Trevell. I'm sure I will be quite comfortable here. I won't be in for tea tonight, though. What time should I be in before you lock the front door?"

"Ten o'clock, dear. Although if you need to be in later, just give me a call, and I can open up for you. Sometimes life doesn't follow a schedule, does it?" the landlady asked. Turning from the door, she finished, "I hope you'll be content here, my dear."

Alone in her room, Shelagh quickly unpacked her meager belongings. Feeling a bit lost, she wondered what to do next. She had told Patrick there was much to do, but now was at a loss. What next, she wondered? Taking a deep breath, Shelagh stepped over to the window and looked out. Not much of a view, but at least the light was good. Smiling, she knew what to do next. It would always bring calm and direction. Shelagh knelt, and prayed.

The High Street was crowded in the middle of the afternoon. Children, free from school for the half-term break, ran in and out of the stalls on the side streets, distracting their mothers and annoying the shopkeepers. Shelagh had a new purpose to her step. With only one set of clothes, she decided to dip into the money Sister Julienne had returned to her. Putting thoughts of her former sister out of her mind, Shelagh reasoned that even as a nun, she had kept several woolen habits for practicality's sake. Another dress and a few oddments was not an extravagance. She hadn't expected to be so eager to find something pretty, however. She had tamped that desire down when she had realized how close the dresses fit her in the shop. Brown would do very well, she decided.

Walking back along to the boarding house, Shelagh felt the strangeness of her new world. For ten years, she had shielded herself from this place. She had moved about these people, even mingled in their lives for a bit, but always there had been a wall separating her from it. Now, she would have to take that wall down if she was ever going to find a new community.


	3. Ch 3 A First Kiss

Shelagh waited up in her room, trying hard to find the calmness prayer usually gave her. Her heart was beating quickly, and her hands felt damp. Her new dress and cardigan seemed appropriate, but she still wondered. The changing light from her window told her that it was going past six. Patrick was late. She shouldn't have been surprised, time was his enemy, but the strangeness of the day filled her with doubt. What if he had realized how much she was asking of him? She had no one but him now. Turning her back on her sisters had left a raw wound, perhaps he thought things should slow down.

The doorbell chimed downstairs. Without thinking, Shelagh stood. She heard voices in the foyer, and footsteps on the stairs. Breathing deeply, Shelagh opened her door and went to meet him.

Patrick stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her. He held a small bouquet of flowers, nervously passing it back and forth between his hands. Her step was quiet, so he didn't seem to hear her approach until she was nearly at his eye level. She stopped then.

"Hello, Patrick," she said quietly.

"Hello, Shelagh."

They stood like that for a moment, and then he put the flowers out to her. "These are for you. I didn't know what kind you'd like. I thought perhaps daisies, they always seem so cheerful to me."

"Thank you, Patrick." Nervously, she clutched them in her hands. Trixie had said a man who brought daisies was glad to have you for a friend. Pushing the thought down, Shelagh asked, "Should we take them with us? Put them on the dinner table, maybe?"

"Yes. Yes, that's a good idea. And then you can take them home afterwards. Shall we go?"

He hadn't made a move towards her, aside from handing off the flowers. Shelagh thought perhaps he was holding himself back. When the door closed behind them, and the peering eyes of her housemates were no longer on them, maybe then he would reach out for her. He turned, and held the door for her as they left.

Shelagh felt her nerves rising to the surface again as they walked to his car. Searching for conversation, she wondered why he wasn't speaking. She wished Timothy was there. Then it would be easier to pretend not to notice the strain between them.

"Thank you very much for inviting me to dinner. It was very kind of you," she started.

Patrick frowned. He could feel the tension as well. Why was this going so badly? He halted for a moment, then continued, opening the door. Had she changed her mind? Now that the dust had settled, had Shelagh begun to regret her promise to have dinner with them? And more?

He closed the door, and walked slowly around the bonnet of the car. Taking a deep breath, he slid in beside her. "Timothy is waiting at the house. We have a Shepard's Pie in the oven. Mrs. Frobisher left it for us."

"That's nice," she answered.

Silence descended over the car as he put it into gear and drove off. Patrick's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. Shelagh watched outside the window, not seeing anything. The ten minute drive seemed to last an eternity. Finally pulling up to the door, Patrick put the car in park, and sat still. Long moments went by as he tried to gather the courage to break her silence.

"Shelagh, you don't have to come in. I'll understand if you're tired and would like to go back."

Keeping her eyes out the window Shelagh nodded her head. "Perhaps that would be for the best," she whispered.

Patrick sighed. "All right, then." He turned his head to reverse the car, then stopped. "Shelagh?" Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen Shelagh covertly wipe a tear from her cheek. "Shelagh, look at me. Please."

"No. Just take me home, Patrick."

"Shelagh, sweetheart. I am so sorry. I've pushed you too hard. Forgive me. I can give you time. Just say you'll let me start over," he pleaded.

Stunned, she faced him. Her face was covered in tears now. "What do you mean? Patrick, I don't understand any of this. I thought-but how could you? I'm not your responsibility, you don't have to take care of me. I have to learn to do that for myself." She straightened her shoulders.

"Shelagh?" he faltered.

"Please take me back now, Patrick. I've misunderstood, that's all. I'll be fine."

For a long moment, he didn't move. Then he reached out and rubbed his thumb against her damp cheek. "I don't want to take you back. Please stay with me, Shelagh."

She turned her face to his, her brow wrinkled. There were no more words, now. Bringing his other hand around, he cradled her face. Slowly, he pressed his lips to hers, not breathing. Her stillness flooded into him, her tranquility giving him hope. A tiny sound came from deep in her throat, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. His lips parted from hers ever so slightly, moving back to take her upper lip between his. Patrick felt her move against his mouth and rejoiced when Shelagh began to kiss him back. The nervousness and strain were gone from between them, and the kiss deepened. Long moments went by before Patrick finally parted his lips from hers. Pressing his forehead to hers, he heard her sigh deeply.

"We should go in now, sweetheart. I'm afraid Timothy will come barging out here any minute demanding his dinner if we don't."

She chuckled. "Only if you promise to kiss me like that again."

"Oh, I think I can manage that, sweetheart!"


	4. Ch 4 A First Date

"Dinner was very nice, Patrick. Please thank Mrs. Frobisher for me." For the first time in days, Shelagh had very nearly cleaned her plate. "And the flowers look very nice on the table."

"I cannot believe you bought daisies, Dad." Timothy scorned.

"Why? What do you mean?" Patrick was used to a little bit of sass from Tim, but did not appreciate the lack of support tonight.

"I think they look lovely, Patrick." Shelagh assured him.

"See? Shelagh likes them. That's all that matters."

"Of course she would say that. She's too nice to tell you the truth about them."

"I'm sorry, Tim. Just _when_ did you become an expert on flowers?" Patrick grew a bit more annoyed.

"Everyone knows, Dad. Daisies are "friend" flowers. They are _not_ the flowers you give a lady when you're trying to impress her."

Shelagh laughed. "I like them. Don't listen to him, Patrick."

Timothy shrugged. "Fine. I was only trying to help. Don't blame me if the only flowers you'll ever get are plain old daisies. I'm going up to my room. Just remind me never to ask _you_ for advice when I start dating a girl, Dad!"

Shelagh and Patrick laughed as he headed up the stairs. ""Tim, you'll need to do the washing up while I bring Shelagh home. I'll be back soon, so don't dilly-dally." Patrick enjoyed getting a bit of his own back when Tim groaned and came back down. "Say goodbye to Shelagh," he told his son.

"Good night, Shelagh. Will we see you tomorrow?" Tim's mood brightened for a moment.

"We'll see. Perhaps, if you clean the kitchen properly." Shelagh smiled. Once she and Patrick had cleared the air between them she had relaxed into the family setting. Timothy and Patrick had teased each other back and forth, each vying for her attention. Now, a few hours later, her face was sore from smiling. She couldn't remember when she had been this happy.

Lighthearted, Shelagh watched as Patrick slid into his seat beside her in the car. "That was a lovely evening, Shelagh. I can't remember seeing Tim so happy. Thank you."

Shelagh blushed. "I'm the one who should be thanking you, Patrick. I had a wonderful time."

"Good. I'm glad." His eyes glittered as he looked at her. He desperately wanted to kiss her again, but was afraid of moving too quickly. For heavens sake, she _had_ started the day as a nun! He pulled away, starting the car."I'd like to see you again. I'm on call the next two nights. Monday, maybe? I'll have to check. I probably owe Wilson a night for covering for me today," he grimaced.

"Yes, Patrick. I'd like that. Monday would be fine."

"But this time, I'm taking you out. Just us. No man should have to compete with Timothy when he takes a lady out on a date!"

* * *

Shelagh was nervous. She felt as if she was always nervous these days. For months, really, if she was honest with herself. All through the Spring and Summer, as she struggled with her developing feelings for Patrick, then at the Sanitorium, anxiety sat on her shoulders. Now, sitting across from Patrick at the small table, she felt the familiar tension rise up again. Dinner in a fancy restaurant was a new experience for her. A few times, as a nursing student, she had gone to a Lyon's with classmates. Her finances had not made many such meals possible, though, and certainly her life as a nun had not provided the opportunity.

Patrick picked up on her unease. "Shelagh? Something wrong?" He was very eager for this evening to go well. The weekend had proven extremely busy for him, and they had spent only a few brief moments in each other's company. His loss had been Timothy's gain, however, as his son had spent the greater part of each day entertaining Shelagh. A trip to the British Museum on Saturday and a walk through the London Zoo had filled their hours while Patrick saw patient after patient.

"No, Patrick. All is well."

"You seem distracted," he nudged. "If you don't like this place, we can leave. Go anywhere you like." He smiled at her, encouraging her to open up to him.

"No, this place is lovely. It's just that I've never been to a restaurant as fine as this. I'm not sure what to do with myself, or which fork to use. I don't even think my dress is quite suitable." She didn't mean to sound so negative. She squared her shoulders and continued, "I just have so many firsts in front of me, Patrick. I will need a bit of guidance here or there."

"I'll be happy to help. But you have nothing to worry about. First of all, your dress is lovely. And even if it wasn't, you are the most beautiful woman in the room. No one is looking at your dress. As to the rest, just be yourself. You can't go wrong there."

Shelagh smiled, grateful. "It's a bit overwhelming sometimes, that's all."

"Well, then. Just take hold of my hand and we'll face it together."

An officious waiter came to their table, and private conversation stopped for a while. Shelagh looked at the menu and panicked.

Patrick reached for Shelagh's hand to reassure her."We'll have the sole Meuniere, with canapes to start," he told the waiter. He looked at Shelagh. "Wine?" he asked.

"No, thank you." She had no head for alcohol. A glass of wine would only complicate the evening.

"Just water, thank you," he advised the waiter.

Left to themselves, Patrick asked, "Have you really never been to a place like this?"

"No, not ever. Funds were rather tight in nursing school, and…"

"Nuns don't generally frequent high-end eateries."

She laughed. "No, not really."

"But when you were a student? I'm sure there were many young men that would have been happy to take you out for a treat."

"I don't think so. I've never really been on a date before."

Patrick was stunned. "So, this is your first date, ever?"

"Yes."

"What about the cinema? Or dancing?"

"Dancing?" She chuckled. "Now you _are_ being silly, Patrick. No, I've never been dancing, and the only movies I went to, I either went with friends or alone. I never was a social butterfly."

Patrick considered her words. "I'm sure you were asked many times, though. You had to be. You're so lovely, and kind, a young man would have been thrilled to have you on his arm."

"Well, they never said. Besides, I had plans to join the Order as soon as I could. I pushed through nursing school rather quickly. I didn't have any free time." She smiled shyly at him. "And thank you for the sweet things you just said."

"I meant every word of them. I suppose we'll have to start up a list. A list of firsts. Things you've never had the chance to do, like dancing and the cinema, a play in the West End, picnics at the seaside…"

"We're going to be very busy," she laughed.

* * *

Later, Patrick suggested a stroll along the river to "help with the digestion." The anxiety Shelagh had felt earlier in the evening had long disappeared, and she could feel herself relaxing.

"You know, Patrick, this is my first stroll along the river." She reached out and took his hand.

"Is it?" His hand tightened on hers. "Another first. We should get busy writing that list. You may have had a first you've already forgotten!"

"Like what?" she asked. "I've been to the museum and zoo before. Shopping can go on the list, I suppose. It had been so long, I forgot how! And I'm not likely to forget tonight just yet. I think the list is safe from being unfinished."

"There's one more first, I think," Patrick said quietly. "Your first kiss."

Shelagh sighed deeply. "Yes. My first kiss. The other night."

"Yes. I haven't kissed you since then."

"No, you haven't."

Patrick turned her to face him. "It's not because I didn't want to, you know."

"Oh?" she whispered. It was getting very hard to breathe.

"No. I've wanted to. Very much."

She swallowed. "Have you? I wasn't sure."

"You can be sure of me, now!" Stepping close, Patrick gently put his hands on her neck and pressed his mouth to hers. Always a quick student, Shelagh responded, her own hands sliding up his forearms. For a long moment they stayed like that, then Patrick brought his arms down around her and pulled her close. Shelagh felt her arms move around his neck as they pressed their bodies even closer. Her head was pounding as the kiss deepened, lips opening to each other, tongues meeting. Her legs went weak, and Shelagh was glad Patrick had such a tight hold on her. Moments later they broke away, breathless. Shelagh rested her head against his shoulder, and Patrick stroked her hair.

"Another first?" he asked.

"Yes."

Standing in each other's arms, the sound of the river helping to quiet their ardent hearts, Shelagh asked, "Patrick, this has been a lovely first date."

"I'm glad, sweetheart."

"And you should know…"

"Mmhmm?" He whispered into her hair.

"I have very high expectations for our second!"


	5. Ch 5 A First Bewilderment

The gates to the schoolyard were crowded with mothers and young children waiting for older brothers and sisters. Shelagh felt a bit out-of-place, standing off to the side. Always concerned about drawing attention to herself, she held back from the crowd. A half day scheduled by the school, Shelagh and Timothy had made a plan to meet at the gate and spend some time at the library. There was a visiting exhibit Timothy had hoped to see. "Dad never has time for that sort of thing," he told her. Afterwards, they would go back to the house to do homework and meet Patrick for dinner.

Among the mothers, Shelagh recognized quite a few whom she had assisted as a midwife. How strange it was to go unrecognized by anyone. As Sister Bernadette, she was sure to have been noticed. The habit, she supposed, would have made her stand out from the crowd. But in her plain green coat and simple accessories, she was just another woman waiting for a child.

Shelagh knew she was still hiding from the world. Staring eyes and questions terrified her. No one could understand why she had done what she did, she reasoned. People were bound to judge her. The decision to leave the Order, while being the right thing to do, was a bit sensational, and her greatest fear was that any scandal would affect Patrick or Timothy.

"Shelagh!" Tim cried.

Forgetting her wish to stay in the shadows, she turned to his voice and watched the boy canter across the schoolyard.

"I knew you'd come! You never forget!" His book bag hung from his shoulders, banging against his hip.

"Well, I don't have much to occupy my time right now, Timothy. It's easy for me to remember things." She longed to reach out and push his hair off his forehead. It was endearing how alike father and son were. "Your dad is a very busy man, you know. It's hard to remember so many things."

Timothy smirked, "But you'll be here to help from now on, won't you?"

"Yes. I will." Smiling, Shelagh asked, "I hope we can all help each other. Would you like me to carry your bag for you? It looks much heavier than usual."

"No, I've got it, thanks. My teacher let me borrow a book so I could show you. Besides, how would it look if I let you carry my bag? You're not that much bigger than me!"

"I always say "Good things come in small packages.'" she declared.

"Yes, well, you have to say that. You're not going to get any taller, are you?" Timothy proclaimed.

"You really are incorrigible, Timothy."

"I know. Dad tells me all the time. Shall we go to the library?"

"Oi, Tim! Wait up!" a voice called. It was Jack Smith, classmate, friend and occasional partner-in-crime. Shelagh had met him many times, as Sister Bernadette.

Jack ran up to them, puffing. "Tim, Mrs. Nelson said maybe you could help me with maths? I just don't get proportions, and we have that exam coming up." He glanced at Shelagh. "Hello."

"Hello," Shelagh answered.

"Jack, this is...this is Miss Mannion. She's my friend, and Dad's," Timothy added. He seemed a bit nervous.

"Hello, Miss Mannion. Pleased to meet'cha." Jack had charm in abundance and self-confidence to carry him through new situations. He turned back to Timothy. "Can you?" he asked.

"Well, we were going to go to the library," Timothy replied. "There's an exhibit on caterpillars I want to see."

"Caterpillars, eh? Furry little worms? Become butterflies?" he asked. Tim nodded in response. "Dunno much 'bout them, but maybe I could join you? Then we could do maths after?"

Timothy looked at Shelagh. She nodded. Timothy turned back to his friend. "All right, I suppose you can come. But don't rush us. I've wanted to see this for _ages_!"

"Should you go tell your mother, Jack?" Shelagh asked.

"Nah. Long as I'm home for tea, she don't mind. The baby keeps her pretty busy, you know. Climbs on everyfing!" they laughed, and started on their way. Occasionally, Jack looked at Shelagh out of the corner of his eye, puzzled. Determined to arrive at the library with enough time to properly view the insects, Tim hurried them on.

Later, Shelagh read in the sitting room as the boys sat in the kitchen snacking on biscuits. The library exhibit had lived up to Timothy's hopes and made him much more amenable to a maths study session. During a break Jack said, "You know, I never thought much 'bout caterpillars before. Pretty clever, don't you think? Start out as one thing, but change into somefin' else?"

"Yes! _That's_ what makes them so special! It's like they get _two_ different lives. They get to experience the world in a completely different way." Timothy stood up. "Shelagh, do you know where I put that butterfly book you found at the library?"

"You brought it up to your room, dear." She came into the kitchen to refresh her cup of tea.

"Right." Scraping his chair back, Timothy ran for the stairs and up to his room.

"Slow down, Timothy," Shelagh called after him.

Jack tilted his head to the side. "You know, you look real familiar, Miss Mannion. You live around here long?"

"Over ten years. Would you like another biscuit?" she asked, trying to distract him. "I think I hear Timothy coming back. Just a few moments more with the butterflies, then you'll have to get to work on maths. It's getting late."

"Ten years! That's almost more'n me! How come I never saw you then?"

"Oh, I daresay you probably have. Isn't it strange how you can see someone a hundred times and never notice them, then you seem to run into them all the time?"

"I guess," he agreed. "Wait! I know! You're Sister Bernadette! I _knew_ I knew ya!"

Embarrassed, Shelagh turned towards the door. "I go by Miss Mannion, now, thank you."

At that moment, Timothy walked in. "Shelagh?" he asked, puzzled by her pained expression. She shook her head. "It's all right. I'm going to step out in the back garden for a few minutes whilst you and Jack finish your math homework." She closed the door closed behind her.

Timothy glared at his friend. "What did you say to her? You've upset her!"

"I didn't mean to! I just recognized her, is all. I didn't say noffin' insultin'."

Timothy exhaled. He sat down in his chair, a moody expression on his face. "I knew you'd ruin it," he glared. "You _always_ say the wrong thing. Shelagh's wonderful and if you've said something to make her want to leave, I'll never forgive you."

Jack was contrite. "Look, Tim. All I said was I knew who she was. Nuffink else."

"What do you mean you knew who she was?"

"You know. Used to be a nun?" Jack hinted.

"Oh. That." Forgiveness started to thaw Tim's mood.

"Yeah. That. That's all. Why'd she get upset by that?"

Timothy thought for a bit. "I suppose maybe she feels a bit strange. You know. It's like the butterflies. For a long time they're caterpillars, going about their business, chewing leaves and stuff, and then-" he paused. "Then something makes them change, and next thing you know they're a butterfly."

Jack nodded wisely. "So now she's a butterfly?"

"Yes."

The two young men sat quietly, pondering the strangeness of adults. "Do you think she likes being a butterfly?" Jack asked.

"I hope so. I rather like having her around. She always has time for me, and she's really quite funny."

"Guess so, for a lady," Jack admitted. "So what do you reckon made her change from a caterpillar?"

"I'm not really sure. One day, she was my friend, and the next we were running off to find her. When we finally got there, she was, I don't know, different."

"A butterfly?"

"Yeah," Tim laughed.

"Maybe it was yer dad? You know, that made her change?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "Now you're just being revolting," he reproached.


	6. Chapter 6 A First Discord

Shelagh was slowly learning the rhythm of her new life. Old patterns from her life as a nun were hard to break, and she still woke before the dawn to say Lauds. It wasn't the same as singing with her sisters, of course. She missed the plainsong and its soothing effect. She could have used that soothing effect much of the time now. It was only when she was with Patrick or Timothy that she felt settled and at ease.

She missed her former sisters; the serene calm of Sister Julienne, the pugnacious bearing of Sister Evangelina, even the mercurial Sister Monica Joan. All had a place in her life before. Having no family left of her own, they had been her only source of comfort and support for ten years. Shelagh had reveled in her place with her improvised family. She had a role there. It had been her job to soothe Sister Monica Joan, to round off Sister Evangelina's rough edges, and to support Sister Julienne. But she had turned her back on them. She knew she had made the right choice, but living with all of its consequences was in fact much harder than she had ever expected.

All her life, Shelagh found that enterprise was the key to her serenity. The terrible time after her mother's passing were compounded by loneliness and inactivity. Her father, lost in his own grief, had buried himself in his law practice. After a few years of this numbness, he realized that the raising of a young daughter was beyond him and sent her away to a convent school. It was here that Shelagh developed her devotion to God, but equally as important, her love of service. In helping others, she developed an understanding of her own pain and how to manage it.

At the Sanatorium, inactivity had once again threatened Shelagh's state of mind. Before her diagnosis, she had been able, for the most part, to keep the strange new feelings under control. There was always something to occupy her when her emotions became too difficult to bear. The hibernation she entered during her recuperation made this denial impossible. In the early days away from her life, she filled her hours with prayer, the Bible, even writing letters to friend back home. But beneath the surface, always, were the emotions that demanded understanding. Finally, she built the courage to face her challenges. Her inactivity had pushed her towards a resolution to her heart's desire.

Now, Shelagh felt as if she was living two lives. One of animation and joy, and one of indolence and melancholy. With Patrick and Timothy, her happiness knew no limits. Supporting them in their busy lives became her pleasure and gratification. Their needs, great and small, filled her time with them with the greatest happiness she had ever known. But in the long hours apart, Shelagh felt the loss of her sisters. She was certain there had were hurt and bitterness on their part. Hadn't she abandoned them? Rejected their way of life? Guilt became a companion in Shelagh's life for the first time.

Shelagh and Patrick made it a point to meet each day, even if only for a few moments. Often they would spend the evening together, having dinner, helping Timothy with homework or music lessons. But days when Patrick's time was filled with calls and clinics, they would snatch moments from his busy schedule: a meeting near the park by the church, a rendezvous by the White Horse statue on High Street, an appointment along the wharf. Shelagh avoided the areas of town near Nonnatus and the maternity hospital. Patrick was aware of her reluctance to frequent her old haunts and was concerned. Often the Sisters had asked for Shelagh, but she seemed determined to cut that part of her life away. The newness of their relationship made him reluctant to challenge her, despite his misgivings.

Shelagh waited for Patrick at the docks one day early in December. Despite his tendency to be late, she always arrived early, not wanting to waste any of the precious time he could take away from his practice. In the daytime hours, the hustle and bustle of the dockworkers made the quays safe and in some ways, inconspicuous.

"Shelagh!" Patrick called. Turning to his voice, Shelagh felt her heart swell. His delighted smile always reminded her of the rightness of her choice.

"Hello, Patrick," she answered. Arm in arm, they began to stroll towards the carts and artists selling trinkets and gewgaws along the river.

"I checked with the vicar today," he told her. "The bans will be read starting this Sunday. We can do the ceremony in the morning of the 24th, and the witnesses are all lined up."

"You've been busy today," she laughed.

"Well, there's a prize for my efforts." Patrick squeezed the hand on his forearm. "Have you decided whom you'll invite?" he asked.

"Oh, I thought it should be just us; the three of us. 'Begin as we mean to go on,' and all that." Shelagh looked off ahead, not meeting his eyes.

"Are you sure? It might be nice to have people there to celebrate with us," he pushed cautiously.

"No, I don't think so, Patrick. I'd like it to be just us."

Nearing a corner, Patrick drew her into a shadow for a bit of privacy. "Shelagh, are you sure? Really? The Sisters might want to-"

"No." Her answer was sharper than she meant. Softening, she continued. "I need to start new with this, Patrick. A fresh start." Her smile was tremulous.

He nodded. "If that's what you want, it's what I want." He paused. "Happy?" he asked.

Her breath caught, as it always did when he asked her that question. She marvelled that his happiness was tangled up in her own. "Yes," she answered, hushed. "How could I not be?"

"I have a hard time believing it, my love." He glanced around him. For now, they were alone. "It amazes me every time I think you feel this way, too."

"I do, Patrick. I love you very much." She forgot the docks, the people, the public nature of their meeting, even in this shadowed corner. Standing on tiptoe, Shelagh reached up and pressed her lips to his. Delighted in the rare opportunity to be so close to her, Patrick drew her close, heightening the contact.

A loud gasp shook them from the moment.

"You forget yourself!" cried Sister Monica Joan.

Jumping apart, Shelagh and Patrick tried to regain control of their breathing.

'"I do not know what you must be about. Lurking in shadows, hiding from the sun." Sister Monica Joan's face hardened. "'There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.'" She turned away and walked off.

"Shelagh?" Patrick reached for her, concern deep in his eyes.

"No, Patrick. Please." Her will tested, she stiffened her spine.

"Shelagh, sweetheart, she's confused. I'm sure if we-"

"No, Patrick. She knew exactly what she was about." Shelagh's face became impenetrable. Patrick was reminded of the days before their engagement, when she closed herself off from him, and felt a sharp pain.

"Patrick, dear, don't worry," she assured him. "I do not need her permission, nor do I expect Sister Monica Joan to understand my position. I am free to chose my own path."

Patrick was not reassured. "Shelagh, we should talk about this."

She looked up at him, finally. "Not now, though, Patrick. I'm sure you need to get back to your calls." Her stiffness relaxed, if only slightly. "Will you be home for dinner?"

He nodded. "A bit later than usual. You'll wait for me?"

"Yes. Of course."

* * *

Despite the heavy afternoon of calls, Patrick was able to return home earlier than he had expected. Watching Shelagh as she readied the dinner Mrs. Frobisher had prepared, he hoped she hadn't fretted over the elderly sister's words. The wound from the break with the Order was too tender for much poking about.

Dinner finished, homework and files stowed in book bag and medical bag, they settled in for a quiet evening. Timothy had gone upstairs for his bath and to retire.

"When I take Shelagh home, what do you do?" Patrick asked as his son made for the stairs.

"No fires, no floods and if there's an emergency, run to Mrs. Greene's house. Oh, and no snacks after I brush my teeth," Timothy recited, the last with a smirk.

"Good night, Tim," his father growled.

"Good night, Timothy, dearest," Shelagh smiled.

"It's easy to see which of you will be my favorite," Timothy replied.

Chuckling, Patrick and Shelagh sat down on the sofa, his arm draped across her shoulders. They sat together in quiet for a while before Patrick mentioned, "You were quiet, tonight."

"It's hard to get a word in between you two."

"Yes, well, that wasn't why, was it?" he turned his body, trying to catch her eye.

Shelagh took a deep breath. "Patrick. I knew when I left the Order that my former sisters would not take the transition well. Today was not unexpected."

"But the expectation didn't dull the pain, did it?" he asked, holding her tighter to him.

"No."

"Do you feel guilty about your choice, Shelagh?" he asked, hushed. "You said once that God has many types of service. Is one form of service more meaningful than another?" Patrick feared his own doubts in God muddled his understanding.

"No. No, of course not. God requires that each of us live in His Word in our own way. It is not the avenue of service which is important, but the dedication we give to our choice."

"Yes," he responded. "And you have made such a difference in our lives, sweetheart. Without you, Tim and I would have gone on, but we never would have known this, this _tremendous_ joy. You complete our family, Shelagh. Surely, this is doing God's work, too?"

"Yes," Shelagh nodded.

He looked puzzled. "Then why do you feel this unease?"

Shelagh was quiet for some time. "Life as a nun was so clear-cut, Patrick. The service I gave was plain and simple. I helped those who were in need."

"Yes, and now you help Tim and me."

"I do. I know. But before, the service was payment in and of itself."

"And now?" he asked.

"Now, it's not so clear."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Shelagh," he answered.

"Now, Patrick, I don't feel as if the service is the only reward." She sat quietly, composing her thoughts. "Now, I feel that I'm being greedy. I feel joy because I am helping you and Timothy, of course. But that's not the only source of my happiness. I feel happy just to think about you. Knowing you love me. Being with you. Being in your arms. I know this isn't making any sense," she sighed.

Patrick thought carefully for long moments. This was starting to make sense to him. "Here's how I think it works, sweetheart. I love you and that makes me happy. Even when I thought you could never love me back, it made me happy just to love you. Sad, of course, but happy, too. But you do love me, which makes me even happier. Unbelievably happy. Unimaginably happy. Implausibly-"

"Patrick!" she laughed.

"And kissing you makes me happy."

Shelagh stilled. Patrick had hit the mark.

"Does it make you happy, too?" he asked.

He waited for her answer. "Yes," she replied.

"And you think because it feels good, perhaps your service isn't as devoted to God as it should be?"

She didn't answer. Patrick continued. "God made us for each other, Shelagh. Life is hard. We have love in the world to make life easier. Love _is_ God, Shelagh." He took her chin in his hands, and kissed her gently. "Does this feel good?" he whispered.

Shelagh nodded, her breathing erratic.

"This is God, Shelagh. This. Between us. This is what will make our lives worthwhile. And that is the truest service you can give." He kissed her again.

Later, sighing and warm, Shelagh looked up at Patrick.

"You know, Patrick, for an avowed agnostic, you have an unusually pronounced faith."

"I am a man of many contradictions, my dear."

* * *

Sister Monica Joan is quoting from 1 Corinthians 10:13.


	7. Chapter 7 A First Gift

Shelagh watched the sky as she waited for Timothy afterschool. The sun had been out for most of the week, but the weather reports weren't promising much more of the mild weather. Patrick had made her promise not to spend any more time outside in bad weather than absolutely necessary. She smiled, thinking about how serious his face had been.

"No chances, Shelagh. I mean it. I will not have you risking your strength so soon. You've always been too cavalier with your own health and safety."

"Really, Patrick! Cavalier?" she chortled.

"Yes, cavalier. Remember the time you had the flu, but came to clinic wearing a surgical mask? And when you sprained your wrist and insisted on bicycling on your rounds? You don't take enough care of yourself. You're still recovering, sweetheart. No chances." He was adamant.

To Shelagh, the only appropriate response to this sort of behavior was to kiss away the frown on his face. "All right, Patrick. I promise to be careful."

Now, the skies were in her favor. She needed Timothy to help her with an errand before the Christmas rush and wedding plans took over, and it looked like the weather would co-operate. As the crowd of children came through the gate, she waved to Timothy.

He trotted over to her, smiling. "So where to?" he asked.

"Hello, Timothy," Shelagh said, pointedly.

"Hello, Shelagh." His smile became a grin. "You've got the disapproving parental voice down pat, already!"

"It's nice to see you, too. Are you hungry?"

"I'm always hungry."

"Well, then before we start off, how about we get you something to eat?"

Timothy didn't answer.

"Timothy? Is something wrong?"

"No. It's just that, well, Dad told me that I shouldn't let you spend anything on me. Former nuns don't have much money."

They continued on in quiet. Shelagh knew the boy's words came from a place of kindness, as had Patrick's. It was true that her supply of money was finite. One hundred pounds had seemed a king's ransom when Sister Julienne had handed it over. After several weeks, however, the sum had dwindled a bit. There had been lodgings to pay for, clothes to purchase, and a seeming unending list of things she needed to rejoin the world. Her days as a student nurse had taught her to manage her funds, however, and Shelagh had recently taken on a few jobs from her landlady to help stop the drain on her resources. It wouldn't do to enter her marriage with only a few pounds.

"That's kind of you both to consider. But I don't think you have to worry about me on that score. I am quite financially sound at the moment," she assured the boy.

He looked up at her, doubtful.

"So, you don't want to stop at the tea shop on the way?" she asked. Shelagh knew the way to this boy's heart.

"Well…" Timothy was still reluctant. Dad wouldn't be very happy with him.

Shelagh took his arm. "Come on, then. I'll explain to your dad. Maybe we'll get him a fairy cake to ease his mind!"

* * *

Powdered sugar on his chin, Tim finished the last bite of his treat. Chewing, he asked, "Is it so very different? Having money?"

"It's different in a lot of ways. I hope the money itself isn't so very important to me. It's just there to help me pay my way. I wouldn't want to be so concerned about buying things. Material possessions don't really give us happiness, do they?" she asked.

Timothy considered, "I suppose not. But it _is_ nice to have a treat once in a while. And get a gift, or a new cap."

"Yes, I suppose it is. But it's not the item that really makes us happy, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when you get a gift, for example. Is it the gift that makes you happy, or is it the intentions of the giver?"

"Huh?"

"Do you think that the ring your father gave me makes me happy because it is a lovely piece of jewelry? And it is, quite lovely, by the way. But no, it makes me happy because I know what it means."

Timothy was glad Shelagh didn't continue on about what the ring meant. He was thrilled she was marrying Dad, of course. But talking about grown-up love stuff was _not _something he wanted to do.

Shelagh continued, "Material possessions should never be loved for themselves. That is greed. We must always be certain to remember they cannot make us happy." Shelagh laughed. "Sorry, dear. End of lecture. Now, speaking of spending money, I need your help."

"How?"

"Well, I need to find a wedding gift for your father. And I haven't got a clue what it should be!" Shelagh had already started knitting a jumper for both Patrick and Timothy for Christmas, but was certain that a gift for the groom should be more permanent than that.

"I don't know!" Tim shrugged. "_I've_ never been married!"

"Yes, but you've known your dad your whole life. You must know something he likes." Shelagh coaxed.

"I don't know, really. He likes being a doctor, maybe a new stethoscope?" Tim tried.

"Hmmm...Maybe something a bit more personal than that?"

"A key chain? He loves his car. You could make him one. I could teach you, we learned in scouts." Timothy was proud of this idea.

"Yes, perhaps. For his birthday maybe?" While Shelagh didn't know what she should give Patrick to commemorate their wedding, but she was fairly certain that it wasn't a key chain.

"We could go to the shop. Mr. Hale's shop. Dad likes to go in there sometimes."

"What sort of shop is it?" Shelagh asked.

"Ship stuff."

"Ship stuff?"

"You know, Navy things. Anchors, wheels. That sort of thing."

"Why would your father go in there of all places?"

"He loves ships. Haven't you noticed? We have two in the sitting room. And there's a painting up in his roo-oh, right, you wouldn't've seen _that_."

Shelagh sat back in her chair. " I never knew. Why does he like ships?" A city born-and-bred doctor who loved ships. Her Patrick certainly was a rare bird.

"His great-great-grandfather, or-was it _my_ great-great-grandfather? Oh, well, _one_ of them was a Commodore in the Royal Navy. When Dad joined up, he wanted to go to the Navy, but the Army needed more doctors, so he joined them instead."

"Well, that is a surprise. How many other things don't I know about your dad?" she joked.

"I don't know. He's pretty boring, really." Timothy quipped.

"You are a beast, young man. Now get your book bag and lead the way to Mr. Hales Ship Shoppe."

Still laughing as they left the tea shop, Tim was startled when Shelagh halted suddenly. Stopping short to avoid bumping into her, he heard her say "Hello, Sister Evangelina."

"Miss Mannion." The nun's voice was curt. "Enjoying the tea shop, are you? Hello, Timothy."

"Hello, Sister Evangelina." Something told Tim he should be on his best behavior. "How are you today, Sister?"

"Busy as usual. Always work to be done. Enjoy your afternoon," she said over her shoulder as she continued on her way.

Shelagh took a deep breath before she started off again. "Come along, Timothy. Let's go see that shop."

They continued on for a few minutes before Tim asked, "Shelagh, are you all right?"

"Yes, of course. Which way should we go at the corner?" Shelagh had become very focussed on the sidewalk.

"Right, then down a block or two. It's on the High Street." The shift in mood was a bit worrying. "I don't think you're all right," he told her.

Shelagh stopped on the street and pulled Timothy close to the building. "I'm fine, Timothy, really. I wasn't expecting to see anyone, that's all."

"Are you upset by Sister Evangelina? She can be pretty scary, sometimes. Dad tells me that it's just her way. She usually doesn't mean to be," he assured her.

"I know. Sister Evangelina is just a bit brusque sometimes. Especially when she's busy." Shelagh was eager to redirect his thoughts. Truth was, she had been upset by the nun's appearance. Coming out of a tea shop on a shopping trip was not how she wanted to be seen by her former sisters. She seemed to meet them in the most embarrassing situations lately. Shelagh started walking down the street again.

"How come you don't visit Nonnatus House?" Timothy asked.

"Oh, the Sisters are very busy, Timothy. And I have you and your father to take up my time now." Timothy was too perceptive for her own good, Shelagh realized.

"You must miss them."

"Yes. Of course. But I have a new life now. And I'm very happy with my path." The shop couldn't be far now, she hoped.

"I'm glad." Timothy told her. "You know, once I was friends with a boy named Edward. He moved away. Now I have Jack, and Gary, although Gary _does_ get into trouble a bit much. I'm glad they're my friends," he paused and pointed to the shop ahead. "But sometimes, I still miss Edward."

* * *

The door creaked as Shelagh and Timothy stepped into the dimly lit shop, every surface covered with gadgets and ropework, brass and maps. Shelagh was amazed that such a place fascinated Patrick. Had he dreamed of a life at sea as a youth? She didn't think so, for she remembered him telling her how he had always been a doctor at heart, even as a boy. Timothy went to the back of the shop and called, "Mr. Hale?"

Some grunting and scraping of chairs came from behind a curtain.

"Timothy Turner! I haven't seen you in a very long time. How are you, my young friend? Is your father with you?" An old man, very tall and thin, approached them.

Again, Timothy put on his best manners. "Hello, sir. No, my father isn't with me today. But I've brought someone else. This is Miss Mannion. She's my very good friend, and she's going to marry Dad."

"Is she really?" the old man murmured. "Good day to you, Miss Mannion. I'm Nathan Hale."

"But not the "hanging" Nathan Hale," Timothy added.

"That's right, young Tim." Shelagh's face wore a confused expression. Mr. Hale explained, "Just a little joke I have. Nathan Hale was an American spy hanged during the American War for Independence."

"And not a shopkeeper in Stepney!" Tim finished.

"I can tell you've spent a great deal of time in here, Timothy!" Shelagh laughed.

"Sometimes Dad and I will come in and spend hours looking at Mr. Hale's things. Curiosities, Dad calls them. Although we haven't been here in _ages_!"

"I suspect your father may have had other things on his mind," Mr. Hale answered, smiling at Shelagh. "Dr. Turner is a very lucky man, Miss Mannion. I wish you the very best."

"Shelagh wants my help picking out a wedding gift for Dad. I thought maybe we could find it here?" Tim asked.

"A wedding gift from my shop? Not usually a spot for brides-to-be, but let's have a look. Where you thinking of anything in particular, Miss?"

"I have no idea. I've been trying to think of something, and nothing comes to mind. I just know I'll know it when I see it." Shelagh began to walk around the small store. The encounter with Sister Evangelina was starting to fade into the background. "You have quite a collection here, Mr. Hale. Where do you find all these things?"

"Oh, here and there. Auctions, mostly. But the occasional Seaman's Home will have a rummage sale, and all the old sailors will sell off their old items. I sold a model ship to Dr. Turner from one such sale."

"That's the one under the front window. It's Dad's favorite. If I ever broke it…" Tim shuddered.

"Tied to the ship's mast and ten lashings?" asked Mr. Hale.

They all laughed. Led around the shop, Shelagh was surprised to see that soon the hour was half gone. "Oh, Timothy, look at the time! We'll have to hurry or we'll be late to meet your father!"

"That's it!" Tim cried. "A watch. Dad's _always_ late. A nice watch would be the perfect gift!"

"I do happen to have a few old watches in this case, over here, Miss Mannion, if you'd like to look." Mr Hale led her to a low glass counter.

"No, not a watch. He already has one. Besides, your father isn't late because he loses track of time, Timothy, dear. He's late because there's always another person that needs his help. You wouldn't want him to pass by someone who needed his assistance, would you?" Shelagh gently chided.

"No," Timothy admitted. Shelagh smiled at him, then looked into the cabinet. Curious, she pointed to a tarnished brass object.

"What is that?" she asked.

"This?" Mr Hale reached into the cabinet and placed the object on top of the counter. "This is an old ship's compass. It's filled with fluid, to keep the compass level as the ship rolls on the waves. So the captain can always find his way."

"Or the right road," Shelagh whispered. She ran her finger over the brass fittings lightly. "How much?" she asked.

"For this?" Mr. Hale thought quickly. The lady before him was dressed in clothes that said more to durability than fashion. And her devotion to Dr. Turner was clear for all to see. "I don't know. It's been here for ages. How about," he stalled, trying to look like he was making a deal, "three pounds?"

"Three pounds? , this is a lovely instrument. Surely it must cost much more than that." Shelagh recognized charity when she saw it. She had lived a life based upon it for ten years, after all.

"It's not worth anything if I can't sell it. No one's as much as looked at this since I brought it into my shop. You'd be doing me a favor taking it off my hands, Miss."

Looking at the compass again, Shelagh decided to let the man win. If it were more expensive, she wouldn't be able to purchase it, anyway. And it was perfect for Patrick.

"All right, Mr. Hale. You have a deal."


	8. Chapter 8 A First Flight

A/N: The next two chapters are rather short, especially after the last one. Not sure if that's good or bad. Here's hoping!

* * *

The wedding was less than two days away. As Shelagh walked back from the bus stop, she watched the flurry of activity around her. The finishing touches were going up all around her. Pine boughs, holly bunches, even glittery garlands festooned the streets of Poplar. People laughed as they went in and out of the shops and the air was filled with the smells of roasting chestnuts and candy floss. Everywhere she looked, people were in the midst of their Christmas preparations.

Despite this, Shelagh could not shake a feeling of unease. She was about to completely change her life, become a wife and mother in the work of a moment. The magnitude of this change both thrilled and terrified her. Yet she felt as if she were in a bubble in the midst of all this activity. Every other wedding she had been a part of, and admittedly they were not many, the bride was the center of the whirlwind. Here, on the eve of her wedding, she felt completely removed from the world.

She knew this was a situation of her own making. She and Patrick had agreed to keep the ceremony quiet. Rather, Patrick had agreed, as it seemed to be so very important to Shelagh. She knew that Patrick was only supporting her decision. And Timothy had asked on more than one occasion why there was to be no large celebration. He didn't understand, he told her, why she didn't want any fuss.

She couldn't explain, even to herself, why she was so eager to hide in the shadows. For a brief moment this morning, she thought she might step out into the light. The dress she carried back from the bridal shop for the second time had very nearly been replaced. The simple, quiet grey dress had almost been returned for something showier, bolder. But with each white dress she tried on that morning, she grew more uncertain. The clerk's words about wedding doubts convinced Shelagh to proceed as she had intended all along. Yet, somehow, walking back with that dress, she did not feel settled.

Unlocking the door to Patrick's house, she let herself in. She would spend this last afternoon helping Timothy with preparations for Christmas, then return to her boarding house until the wedding. Timothy was looking forward to completing the last steps on their Christmas pudding.

Placing the dress box down, Shelagh hung up her coat and headed into the sitting room.

An hour later, still shaking, Shelagh watched as the doctors and nurses went in and out of Timothy's cubicle. Matron had removed her quite forcibly from the room. "There are rules, you should know that," she scolded Shelagh. Now, Timothy lay alone in his bed and she was helpless to be with him. Patrick was out on rounds, and still no one had located him.

In a flurry of chaos, Patrick bolted into the antechamber of the polio ward. Grasping her hand, he frantically looked through the small window towards his son. His mind only on his child, Patrick pushed the door open and walked slowly towards him. Shelagh sobbed as she watched. Timothy and Patrick were twenty, thirty feet away, but the distance became a huge chasm. She knew that for the moment, she had been forgotten. Engulfed by fear and pain, she left the ward, blindly searching for a refuge.

She walked quickly away from the hospital, not knowing where her feet were taking her. The sun went down, time passed, all unnoticed. A woman stopped her on the street, concerned for her, and the moment of compassion brought Shelagh around. She looked at the woman's kind face and realized where she had to go. Squeezing the woman's hand, Shelagh turned and set her path towards the civic shelter**.**

The hinges of the doors to theLeopold Instituteresponded with a surprisingly light touch. Shelagh crossed the threshold and started to climb the stairs. Nervously, she paused. Would they welcome her, she wondered. Would her rejection of them block her from the only solace she had left? At that moment, the melody of plainsong rose through the hall. Taking a deep breath, she pushed forward.

Shelagh stepped into the room and joined her former sisters. Taking her place beside Sister Julienne, she felt the older woman's hand reach out and clasp her own. Shelagh's voice joined in the music and she felt its peace surround her.

The cot Sister Evangelina laid out for her was as uncomfortable as it looked, but years of displacing herself from her physical self made it possible to focus instead on the changes Shelagh could feel happening within her. Her heart-to-heart with Sister Julienne had shown her that it was fear that ruled her life. After taking such a huge step in changing her own life, Shelagh had faltered, and allowed concern for the thoughts of others to rule her decisions.

She had closed her world to all but Patrick and Timothy, and had allowed no one else near her. The joy she had found with Patrick on that misty road was soon overshadowed but worry and doubt. Not in her feelings for Patrick, she knew her love was steadfast. Rather, she doubted herself. Had she been selfish to abandon her former life for a new one? Would others see her as an interloper and not accept her?

"Have courage," Sister Julienne told her. Shelagh finally understood that she had let concern for how others would view her choices dictate the course she was travelling. She had allowed the Matron to push her out, had shut herself away from those she loved and loved her in return. The joy was gone not because Timothy was there in that hospital bed, but because she had allowed it to be smothered by self-doubt. It was up to her to harness her courage and correct her own course.

The first bus to the hospital left the neighborhood at five o'clock. Shelagh would be on it, and soon after, would be at Patrick's side.


	9. Chapter 9 A First Night

The first crisis over, the nurses encouraged Patrick and Shelagh to go home for the night. Timothy would sleep now, and would need them both rested in the morning. Walking through the darkened hallways, Shelagh could feel Patrick start to sag. She worried that he had spent himself through the long vigil by Timothy's side. He needed to get home, and into bed. Shelagh wasn't sure he would even be able to stay awake long enough to eat something.

As they climbed into the car, he rubbed his face. "Will Mrs. Trevell be angry with you, coming in so late?"

"I don't really know, Patrick." She reached over and took his hand. "Take me back to your house, dearest. You need me to take care of you tonight."

"Shelagh, we shouldn't. We've worked so hard to protect your reputation." He knew he was right, but didn't want to be. There would be no Timothy to act as chaperone if she stayed tonight and he knew there was already more gossip about her than she liked. If a neighbor were to see them together tonight, or in the morning, it would add fuel to the fire.

"I've been afraid for too long, Patrick. Afraid of what people might say or think. I let that fear keep me away from my sisters. Last night I let it keep me away from you and Timothy. I will never let at happen again, Patrick. I don't care if the whole neighborhood knows that I'm staying at your house tonight, I won't leave you. Let me help you tonight, Patrick. You've been my strength, now let me be yours."

He caressed her cheek with his palm, and let out a husky laugh. "I'm not so sure I could make it to the boarding house, anyway." He kissed her gently and whispered, "You'll be safe tonight, I promise. I won't do anything to compromise you."

"Just drive, Patrick. Take us home."

The streets were empty but for the green Austin making its way back through the streets of Poplar. Sooner than they thought, Patrick and Shelagh were inside the house, hanging up their coats.

"Would you like me to make some tea?" Shelagh asked.

Patrick answered by pulling her into his arms, holding her as close as he could. "Hold me, Shelagh. I just need you to hold me."

She wrapped her arms around his waist. All the grief of the past days was weighing him down and Shelagh let him relax into her. They stayed like that for long minutes until Patrick started to pull away.

"You'll need the pillow and-" exhausted, he swayed. He took a deep breath and continued, "I reckon it's still in the sitting room, it's been so long…"

Shelagh reached out for his hand. "Patrick, you're asleep on your feet. I can take care of myself. Let me help you up the stairs."

"No, I've-"

"Patrick." Her voice was strong and firm. "You _will_ let me help you up the stairs and you _will_ let me take care of you. Now turn around. I'll have to support you, but there's no way I can do this by myself." Giggling, she nudged him toward the stairs.

"Yes, ma'am," Patrick agreed. He yawned enormously. Together they climbed the stairs, both too tired to realize that this was the path they would have taken tonight if things had gone differently. Reaching the room, Shelagh opened the door and pushed him through.

"Sit down," she told him. Shelagh knelt by the bed and removed his shoes, then socks. Standing, she untied his tie, removed his waistcoat and loosened the top buttons of his shirt. She was grateful for her nurse's training. That detachment helped her assume a calm she didn't feel as she settled him in**. **

Patrick reached for her and put his hands on her hips, looking up at her. "I love you, Shelagh. I couldn't bear this without you."

She let his arms pull her close, and ran her fingers through his hair. Long seconds passed until Patrick's breathing grew slower and deeper, and she realized that he was falling asleep. Slowly, she guided him to the pillow.

"Don't go, Shelagh. Stay with me." His voice was quiet, but strong. "I need to hold you tonight. That's all. Please, just let me hold you."

Shelagh felt a familiar feeling creep in to her mind. She shouldn't, it told her. It wasn't right. If people knew—

"All right, dearest. I won't leave you. Let's get you under the covers and then I'll be with you in just a jiffy." She felt herself tremble as her courage returned. Moving to the other side of the bed, she slipped off her dress and took down her hair. In a moment, she was in his bed and in his arms.


	10. Chapter 10 A First Christmas

Shelagh woke slowly, one sense at a time. She could feel herself wrapped in Patrick's arms, lying side by side, heart to heart. Both had been so tired that neither had moved during the night. She heard his slow, deep breaths, and could smell his warm skin. Slowly, she opened her eyes, seeing the length of his throat. Trying to keep her breathing normal, Shelagh studied his skin, saw the stubble that had grown during their ordeal, and the pulse beating inches from her lips.

She did not want to wake him, yet. The newness of her situation was so very strange. Never in her life had Shelagh shared a bed with another and she was certain that even if she had, her body had never reacted like this. They had grown closer in intimacy in the last weeks and Shelagh had discovered an enthusiasm for his touch. Patrick was always careful not to push her very far, but any fears she had for her wedding night had long since dissolved. A wedding that would now be postponed, she sighed.

Patrick stirred. His arms tightened around her as he breathed her in. His eyes opened, meeting hers, tracing her face. Shelagh smiled as he mirrored her waking routine. They always seemed to be in harmony with each other. "Morning," he murmured. He kissed her, a gentle, soft kiss as his hand came up from her waist and pushed her hair from her cheek. "Thank you. For staying with me."

Shelagh snuggled back into his chest. A sense of well-being poured over her, and she pressed a kiss to the pulse at his throat. "I love you, Patrick."

They both felt the moment change and intensify. Patrick's hand curved around her cheek and he bent to kiss her slowly, carefully. He rolled Shelagh to her back and moved his lips over hers. Eagerly, she opened herself to his kiss, wrapping her arms around his waist. Tongues met and caressed as his hands glided over her arms and shoulders. His lips skimmed over her face, retracing paths he had come to know. He nipped at her ear before travelling slowly down her throat, coming to rest at the collar bone. Shelagh sighed brokenly. His hands now at her waist, her own arms travelled up around his neck to bring him closer, her fingers in his hair.

"Shelagh," he breathed. His lips travelled back to her mouth, claiming them again in a deep, languorous kiss. Slowly, he parted his lips from hers. "I have to stop," he whispered. "I want you so badly, sweetheart. But I have to stop."

Shelagh nodded. Patrick rested his face in her hair. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you like this."

"You didn't push me into anything. I love you. I'm here, Patrick." Her fingers caressed his neck.

He rolled on to his back. "No, Shelagh. Not like this." He lifted his arm to cover his eyes. Shelagh nestled at his side and his arm came down around her. "There's no shame in love, Patrick. I learned that long before I left the Order."

"I know, sweetheart. But you've had to give up so much for me."

"I gained far more than I gave up." She pressed a light kiss to his chin. "I have love."

Slowly, their bodies calmed. Laying close together, their breathing in rhythm, they both thought of Timothy. "When will they let us back in, do you think?" she asked.

"Not sure. But I dare them to try and keep you out."

She laughed. "I'm in danger of becoming quite a dragon, aren't I?"

"The most beautiful dragon there ever was. I'm just glad you're on my side!"

"Forever and always, Patrick dearest." She lifted her head and looked him square in the eyes. "We'll have to wait, now. To have the wedding."

He nodded. "Yes."

"And I'm afraid I've changed my mind, you know," she informed him.

Patrick looked at his love quizzically. "About?"

"I'm afraid I want a _very_ big wedding now. Everyone will have to be there, the Sisters, the neighbours, your family, everyone. And a new dress. And Mrs. B. will have to make a cake. But it will all have to wait until Timothy is there with us."

Patrick nodded again. " Yes, my beautiful dragon."

* * *

While Patrick bathed and dressed, Shelagh went down to the kitchen to start breakfast. He would be very hungry this morning, she knew, and they had to get to the boarding house before going to the hospital. A quick fry-up would have to do. Much too greasy, she frowned, but Patrick would like it, and it would be quick.

The bacon nearly done, Shelagh cracked four eggs into the frying pan. She startled when Patrick loomed behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist.

"Now that's what I like to see: the woman I love, and bacon." He sniffed the air appreciatively. "Aren't you going to eat? That's all for me, I'm sure."

"Sit down and have your tea, Patrick. I'd like to leave as soon as we can. I'm afraid you'll have to wait for me at Mrs. Trevell's. I need a bath as much as you did!"

"You look fine to me," he told her, taking in her wrinkled dress and tousled hair. He winked, and Shelagh rolled her eyes.

As expected, Patrick was wiping his plate clean with the last of the toast before she had finished one egg. "That really is a disgusting habit," she told him. "How am I expected to teach Timothy any manners if you're going to eat like a barbarian?" she teased.

Patrick reached across and stole her bacon.

"Hail the conquering hero!" he crowed as he stood. "Let me wash up while you go put up your hair. If the neighbours see you like that, I'll _never_ live it down. I have a reputation to maintain, after all."

"Ha, ha," she answered.

A few minutes later, Shelagh came down the stairs. Somehow she had managed to smooth both her hair and dress, and looked perfectly appropriate. She found Patrick deep in the cupboard beneath the stairs.

"Patrick, what on earth are you doing in there? You'll get all dusty."

His voice came muffled, "Christmas presents. I hid them in here. Timothy thinks that I have no creativity, but he never thought to look here, right under his nose." He came out bearing gaily wrapped packages. "I thought perhaps we could bring the books we got him, and perhaps the model airplane kit? I suppose we'll have to leave the kite behind. For later," he added hopefully. "Not exactly the Christmas I had planned. But at least I have you here." He swooped down for a quick kiss.

* * *

Timothy was awake and ready for visitors when they came on the ward a half hour before visiting hours. Patrick was right. No one even tried to slow Shelagh down.

"Merry Christmas, son," he said as he ruffled the boy's hair. Testament to his happiness, the boy didn't resist. "Happy Christmas, Timothy, dear," Shelagh told him. The feelings of the last days were still a bit tender, and she resisted the urge to kiss him.

Patrick held out the gifts they had brought. "Quite a haul this year. We had to leave some at home. Those'll wait until later," he promised with a wink.

"Thanks," Timothy said quietly.

"Timothy, is there something wrong?" Shelagh asked. "You look tired all of a sudden."

"No, I'm all right." He didn't seem able to meet her eyes.

Shelagh felt a tension in the air. Perhaps she should let Timothy have some time with his father, alone. She stood and turned to go. "I think I'll go speak with the nurse. She wanted to know of any foods you wouldn't eat. Doesn't pay to try to force a convalescing boy to eat his Brussel sprouts, you know."

"No, don't go!" Timothy said. "Please."

Shelagh sat down again.

"Tim, what's wrong?" his father asked.

"Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired, I guess. I'll start on my presents, now."

Two books, a puzzle, a framed butterfly specimen and a box of marbles later, Timothy had relaxed back into his old self. The ward sisters had given around Christmas crackers, and everyone looked a bit silly in their paper hats.

"How come your hat always slips to the side, Dad?" Tim asked. "Every year. It's really quite ridiculous."

"Yours does, too, Timothy," Shelagh teased.

"It does not. It sits right up here on my head. Like a king, see?" Timothy preened and stuck out his chest, laughing.

"Happy Christmas, Turners," said a voice from behind. Dr. Carson, the polio ward's neurologist, had come in for a quick round to see the how the new patient was doing. Not quite forty, Jim Carson had already built a reputation for steering children with polio through to health and vigor. With no wife at home and parents far away in Lancashire, he was free to come to the hospital on the holiday.

"Merry Christmas, Dr. Carson," greeted Shelagh.

Patrick stood and shook the younger doctor's hand. "Yes, Merry Christmas, Doctor. We cannot thank you enough- " he started.

"Don't thank me. It was this young man. Timothy, I don't think I have ever seen anyone respond so quickly to the Iron Lung treatments. You, my good sir, are a medical marvel."

Timothy, Patrick and Shelagh all grinned widely.

Dr. Carson continued, "Now we'll just have to build up your strength a bit, and then we can start some physical therapy on those legs of yours. I know you think you're strong as an ox, and you are, in your mind. But your leg muscles have had quite a shock. We'll need to coax them back, slowly."

"How slowly?" Timothy asked.

Patrick's hand reached for Shelagh's. "Tim, these things take time. We'll all have to be very patient," he told his son.

"Your father's right," Dr. Carson stated. "I have no doubt that you are a very determined boy. You'll walk again. Not this winter, perhaps, but I think we can have you up and about by Spring. Are you ready for some very hard work?"

"Yes, sir."

"It will require determination and courage. And a lot of very boring exercise. Not fun exercise like a good cricket game or football match. Mostly pulling up weights and bending and flexing."

"I can do it, sir. I play the piano and the violin. I know all about boring exercises," Timothy answered cheekily.

Despite everything, it was a blissful Christmas. Timothy's recovery had inspired so many of the patients on the ward, and their families in turn. The long day was coming to an end and Timothy was starting to wilt. Reluctantly, Shelagh and Patrick bid him good night, and gathered their things.

"Shelagh?" Tim's voice called, small and breathy.

"Yes, dearest?" She approached the side of the bed as Patrick looked on.

"I'm really sorry, Shelagh."

"Whatever for, silly boy?" She ran her hand across his cheek.

"For messing up the wedding. I didn't mean to. Really. I tried to make myself stay better, so nothing would stop it."

"Oh, Timothy," her voice shook. "There's nothing for you to be sorry for. I'm sorry I didn't see that you were ill. I should have known that you were hiding something. Promise never to do that again. I love you too much for anything like this to ever happen again."

"Don't worry, Shelagh. I worked very hard to keep it from you. All I wanted for Christmas was for you to marry Dad," Timothy whispered.

"And I will. When you're better. The three of us, together." She smoothed his hair and watched as he slipped into a natural sleep. Shelagh turned to Patrick and took his outstretched hand.


	11. Chapter 11 A First Pageant

A/N: Chapters 11 and 12 happen concurrently. Hopefully this works!

* * *

Days settled into a new pattern that winter, and the hospital became Shelagh's center. Every morning she could be found at Timothy's bedside and there again later with Patrick in the evening. A pile of books towered on the small table at his bedside, and an assortment of toys and projects filled a basket she had placed beneath the bed. The patient was not going to have a chance to be bored, she promised.

While Timothy may have groaned about the schoolwork, he was glad to have Shelagh around. Her cheerful attention, appreciated long before the engagement, had always helped to fill the gaps in his life after his mother's death. As Sister Bernadette, Shelagh seemed to be around when he was feeling low about his mother, or missed his father, or just needed a smile. She was always there for him when he needed someone, when Dad couldn't.

While she was away at the Sanatorium, Timothy had felt her absence sorely. Dad was quiet most of the time, and for some reason, Tim didn't think his father would talk about Sister Bernadette. Requests to visit the patient were quickly denied. Her return and the subsequent alteration to his family had changed all that. For the first time in years, he was the sole focus of someone's attention, and a few hours with school books was a small price to pay for her undivided attention.

"Shall we start with geography today, or history?" Shelagh asked him that morning. It was always best to get those two out of the way. Timothy was not destined to be a cartographer. "How about handwriting?"

"That's a terrible choice, and you know it. Besides, I did my handwriting exercises yesterday. You said if I did, I wouldn't have to do it again until next week," Timothy complained.

"I know. I was just teasing you. So, history, then?"

"I don't know about you, Tim, but I'd pick geography. You might get her to talk about far off lands or intrepid explorers!" came a voice from the end of the bed.

Both sets of eyes turned to see Dr. Carson.

"Greetings, Doctor. I'm sure I don't know many tales about intrepid explorers. And the furthest I've ever been is Aberdeen," Shelagh informed him.

"Well, Scotland's rather wild. Maybe tales of untamed Scottish highlanders?" the doctor asked.

They laughed, and Tim put his book down. "If you're here, does this mean I don't have to do my lessons?" he asked. Doctor Carson's visits usually signalled a break from routine. "Can we do physical therapy, instead?"

"No, I'm just here for a moment, I'm afraid. Stopping by to see my favorite patient," he looked around the room. "Any idea where he might be? He's a cheeky monkey, tries to get out of his schoolwork. Maybe you know him?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "All right, I'll do my history. You adults think you're so very smart, tricking me into it." He huffed as he opened his book again. "But you promised to come by a read my new comic book to us later."

"I know, old chap, I'll be back later. I have much more important patients to see to now, however." The doctor turned, asking, "Miss Mannion, could I speak with you for a moment? Outside? Don't worry, Tim, nothing's wrong. It's not even about you. Hard as that is for you to believe," he assured the boy.

"Start on the next chapter, dearest. We're studying the War of the Roses today," Shelagh patted Timothy's pillow. "I'll be right back."

Out in the hallway, Shelagh positioned herself so she could see Timothy through the small window.

"Miss Mannion, as a nurse, I am sure you're aware of the importance good morale is to a patient's recovery. We've seen it with Timothy. His recovery is moving along very nicely. And much of that is due to your efforts."

Shelagh blushed. "Thank you, doctor. But I'm sure it has much more to do with Timothy's strength of will. He is a very determined boy."

"Yes, he is. And his determination is matched by your own. That's what I wanted to speak to you about. We, the nurses and other doctors and I, were wondering if you could perhaps organize the children into some sort of activity? A concert, or a talent show, perhaps? You're a favorite among the children, and we think you could rally them together."

Surprised, Shelagh thought for a moment. "I wouldn't want to take any time from my hours with Timothy, Doctor. Timothy's recovery is our first priority. Dr. Turner and I are of one mind on that."

"Yes, of course, I understand. But this could be perhaps part of his recovery process? He has strong leadership qualities, he could exercise them here."

Shelagh smiled at that. "I'll speak with Timothy's father. And Timothy will have to agree, as well."

"Yes, of course. Miss Mannion, we would all be very grateful," Dr. Carson placed his hand on her arm and smiled warmly into her eyes.

At that moment, Patrick came through the door to the ward. He stopped short, surprised to see them there. Dr. Carson saw him first, and greeted him, stepping back. "Dr. Turner, good to see you. Miss Mannion, I'll speak to you later?" The doors swung behind him as he left the ward.

"Patrick! I never expected to see you this morning." Shelagh beamed up at her fiancé. Moving closer, she took his hands in hers. "I'm so very glad you're here." Patrick was rarely able to visit Timothy until the evening, by which time his son was tired and couldn't enjoy the visit.

Patrick stood for a moment, looking at her. He explained, "We had an electrical issue in the surgery, so all morning appointments were cancelled. It should be fixed by this afternoon. I stopped by your rooms to give you a ride, but you had already left."

She squeezed his hands, smiling. "Timothy will be thrilled to see you. But I'm afraid I'll never get through history today."

Patrick held the door for her as they entered the ward. "What was that about? With Dr. Carson? Everything all right?"

"Yes, all is well, Patrick." She smiled. "We can talk about it later."

"Dad!" Timothy called out. "Thank goodness you're here. You've saved me from death by history!"

* * *

For two weeks, the ward buzzed with plans for the pageant. The children and staff threw themselves into the scheme, writing skits, practicing instruments and memorizing parts. Parents, too, joined in. Shelagh was able to convince several mothers to create costumes, and Charlie Barron's father found old room dividers and sheets to create a temporary stage.

Visiting hours no longer limited the time Shelagh could spend on the ward. By the time Patrick arrived in the evenings, she was knee-deep in rehearsals.

Dr. Carson seemed to take the task to heart, as well. Already a favorite with the children, he became Shelagh's assistant.

Patrick stood by Timothy's bed, fighting annoyance that yet again Shelagh was somewhere else.

"Dr. Turner!"

He turned to the voice. Dr. Carson entered the ward, arms filled with gold Christmas garland. "Dr. Turner, good to see you. Let me just put this down with the props and I will be right with you."

"Patrick! Is it so late? Oh, I've lost track of time. Have you been here long?" Shelagh came from the nurses offices, a section normally off-limits to parents.

"No, I've only just got here. What is all this?" Patrick tried to hide his irritation.

"Last items for the show tomorrow. I think we may just have a hit on our hands!" She smiled widely as she looked about the room.

"Dad, Shelagh says that she's asked Mrs. B to make a cake for tomorrow night. Coconut. My favorite."

"Hmmm," answered Patrick.

Timothy felt the tension that had been growing this last week, and it worried him. If only the world would stop bothering them, he thought. He couldn't wait to be finished with this ward, back home and Dad and Shelagh could get married. And they would be a family. If he could hurry up and get better, this worry would all go away.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news, Tim. Dr. Norton can't fill in for me tomorrow night, after all. I have a call in to Dr. Wright, but I'm not hopeful." While this show was definitely a bother, Patrick did hate to disappoint his son.

Neither Shelagh nor Timothy said anything. They didn't seem all that surprised, Patrick realized. He felt like a cad, and wasn't surprised when they chose to practice Tim's script one more time.

"Shelagh, do you think Dad will be able to make tonight, after all?" Timothy asked. The Follies were to be directly after dinner, and Dad hadn't been able to switch duties with anyone.

"I know he's trying desperately hard to, dearest. We're both so sorry that you might be disappointed." Shelagh and Patrick had in fact argued over the subject that morning on the telephone. Patrick was very edgy lately, and his tension had spread to Shelagh.

"Of course I understand, Patrick," she had told him. "But he will be so very disappointed."

"I can't help that, Shelagh. What if someone goes into labor, or there's an accident?"

Patrick's defensive tone hit a sore spot. "Just once, Patrick, it would be nice for Timothy to come first."

"That's not fair, Shelagh. It's not as if I'm out at the pub throwing darts. This is my job!"

"Of course it is. Patrick, I don't want to fight about this. Just try to come tonight."

Shelagh hung up. "I wish you wouldn't hide behind your job, Patrick," she whispered.

The ward was abuzz with excitement as parents, nurses, even doctors staying past their shifts settled to watch the pageant. Shelagh arranged the show's order, putting Timothy's skit last in the hope that Patrick would make it after all. Shelagh adjusted the hat Timothy wore for his costume. He had prepared a skit based on the Lone Ranger with Harry Watson, a boy from the next bed. Neither boy could walk far or even stand for long yet, but they realized that each could sit on a backwards-facing chair and pretend it was a horse. Timothy had picked the Lone Ranger when the boys had drawn cards, and later told Shelagh he was glad he had gotten the lawman and not the sidekick. "I'd hate to have to wear braids again, like the church fete. _That_ was embarrassing."

Now it was time for the last number to go on. Dr. Carson lifted each boy on to their chair, and Nurse Bennett pulled the curtain open.

With the assurance of seasoned burlesque players, the boys entertained the ready-to-please crowd. Smiling, Shelagh looked around the room. She caught her breath when she saw Patrick standing in the back by the double doors. Inconspicuously, she moved to stand with him and took his hand. Patrick smiled stiffly down at her. When the boys made their last joke, and the curtains closed on them, Patrick rushed forward to carry Timothy off the makeshift stage.

"Dad! You made it! Did you see it all? Did you hear the joke about the waterhole?" Timothy beamed.

"Yes. I wouldn't miss this. Mrs. Collins wanted to go into labor tonight, but I told her she'd just have to wait until later. I had tickets to the sell-out performance of the star of the Royal London Hospital!" He placed Timothy back on his bed and glanced at Shelagh. "Sorry about before. It's been difficult."

She nodded. "I'm glad you came."

"Dr. Carson," Timothy called. "Dad made it, after all! You were right!"

Dr. Carson joined their group. "Good to see you, Dr. Turner, glad you could make it."

"Yes. I do have to go back, though, Tim. But not quite yet."


	12. Chapter 12 A First Jealousy

No one felt the changes in Shelagh's calendar more than Patrick. Never in his life had he lived alone, even as an adult. Life as a student and bachelor had always required a flatmate to share expenses, and in the army, there had been the barracks. After his wife's death, his son's presence filled the house. Now, for the first time, Patrick came home to a dark and empty house. Solitude did not suit him.

In the time since his engagement to Shelagh he had come to rely on the her presence. Evenings at home were the balm he keenly needed and even their brief meetings on days when his schedule was overbooked helped. Now she was so busy he felt never saw her. Their time alone was reduced to drives to and from the hospital, and Patrick missed Shelagh, indeed.

What bothered Patrick more was that Shelagh seemed to take the change without issue. He knew she liked to be occupied, and Timothy's rapid recovery was largely due to her efforts. Patrick was grateful of course, but felt a twinge of resentment when the little time she spent away from the hospital was not focused on him. To help boost her funds, she had taken on work in the kitchen of her boarding house, and was actively assisting the Order in their search for a new home. Now, the talent show she was organizing for Timothy's ward was also taking up her time. He knew he was being selfish, but couldn't fend off the feeling of disquiet.

Leaving the hospital one night, he reached out to take Shelagh's arm. "I'm not on call tonight. Wright needed to switch. Shall we make an evening of it?"

"I'll have to call Sister Julienne. I made plans to review some of the housing options with her tonight. The Mother House has finally laid out the budget," Shelagh answered.

"Oh. Well, another time, then. The Sisters don't need any more delays." Patrick was disappointed, but the glad for the reconciliation Shelagh had with her former Sisters.

"I am sorry, Patrick. We don't see much of each other these days, do we?"

"Not really. I miss you." They had reached the car. Patrick always seemed to have luck finding parking places.

Shelagh tugged on his lapel. "I miss you, too. I'm sorry about tonight. But the Order does need to be settled. The church basement is not working at all, as Sister Monica Joan keeps telling us. Come with me? Then, if we finish early we can still have a few moments."

Patrick sighed. "All right. Then I won't have to worry about you getting home safely, either."

He opened the car door for her, but they were stopped by a voice calling, "Wait! Miss Mannion. Dr. Turner!"

Alarmed, they turned to see Dr. Carson approaching.

"No, nothing's wrong. Timothy is fine. I saw you both leaving, and just wanted to ask about the 'Polio Follies.'" The children had insisted on the silly name for their revue. "Nurse Bennett told me today that you'll need some props?"

Shelagh responded, "I've got that all handled, Doctor. We'll use items from the church."

"Excellent. I knew we could count on you! We're very grateful for the time Miss Mannion is devoting to this project, Dr. Turner." Dr. Carson smiled at Shelagh.

Patrick rankled at that, but responded, "My fiance is a force to be reckoned with, Doctor. I've never seen her fail to rise to a challenge." Deliberately, he placed his arm around her.

Shelagh blushed. "I _am_ right here, gentlemen."

With a laugh a little too hearty, Patrick said, "If that's all, Doctor? I'd like to get Shelagh home."

"Yes, of course. Have a nice evening."

Patrick decided to wait for Shelagh in his surgery while she met with Sister Julienne. There was always paperwork to catch up on, after all. Two hours later, however, he hadn't made much progress. His mind kept wandering to the conversation outside the hospital. Surely, it hadn't been necessary for Dr. Carson to come out to speak to Shelagh as they were leaving. Patrick ground his teeth and started his last cigarette. He had made his way entirely through the supply in his case today. Shelagh would tell him to stop trying to smoke his worries away.

Tonight he had finally put a name to the anxiety he'd been feeling for the last week or so. At first he had placed the blame on fatigue, then loneliness. Now he knew the real source. He was jealous.

Shelagh was a beautiful woman, no matter how unaware of it she might be. Patrick had noticed other men noticing her, and until now, it had never really bothered him. But the younger doctor had her regard, even if only as Timothy's doctor. They were much closer in age, and Patrick could see a friendship developing between the two.

Jim Carson was a gifted physician, ten years younger than he, at least, and quite good-looking. On top of that, he carried himself with a confidence which made him the most distinguished person in a room. If he wanted to charm someone, he was certainly capable. The smile Carson gave this evening was only intended for Shelagh, and Patrick felt threatened.

It had been no small feat, getting to the pageant. Patrick had to call in two favors, and even then he could only get away for an a few hours. Driving through London at that time was maddening in the best of circumstances, so Patrick arrived at the London in a grey cloud of a mood. Only the look on Timothy's face when he arrived cleared his temper and Patrick relaxed into the evening's festivities.

Before long however, the Nurses were reorganizing beds and children were settled for the night. Several still wore their costumes, and would until morning. Shelagh toured the room, collecting props to return to the church.

"Good night, son." Patrick tickled Timothy on just that spot above his knee.

"No fair, Dad. I can't kick you when you do that, yet!"

"You'll just have to hurry and get well, then, or I shall go unpunished too long!" Patrick teased.

"I'm working on it, Dad." He gestured for his father to come closer. "Dad, be nice to Shelagh. She did a really good job with this. Everyone has been so happy this week, and it's all because of her. Dr. Carson said she is "indefendable!"

"Who's indefendable?" Shelagh asked, returning to their little group.

"I think he means 'indispensable.'" Patrick turned to Shelagh. His face closed again, he asked "Ready to go?"

"Yes. Good night, Lone Ranger. I'm very proud. You were the best one, you know." Shelagh bent down and placed a kiss on his cheek, grateful that Timothy no longer rolled his eyes at such gestures.

As they made their way out the doors, Nurse Bennett stopped them. "We should all celebrate! Dr. Carson was suggesting a stop at the White Rabbit tonight. You two should join us."

Doctor Carson came up behind them. "Yes. Tonight is your triumph, Shelagh! You have made such a difference to these children. They will talk of this for weeks. Let us thank you properly."

Shelagh blushed. She could feel Patrick stiffen. "I'm sorry, but Patrick has to go back to the maternity hospital. Thank you, though."

"I could take you home, if you like," offered Dr. Carson.

Patrick felt the unease return, but knew he was being selfish. "Yes, Shelagh. You go. You deserve a celebration. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Are you certain, Patrick?" she asked, hesitant.

"I promise to have her home safe and sound, Turner. You're leaving her in good hands." Dr. Carson assured him.

"Yes." Patrick turned to Shelagh. "Good night."

An hour later, Patrick was feeling the oppression of his own thoughts. He had returned to his duty at the hospital, but all was quiet. It could change at any moment, of course, but it didn't look like any women on the ward were going into labor tonight. He would be stuck here doing paperwork. There was always paperwork, and Shelagh was across town, celebrating.

She hadn't done anything wrong, and he knew he wasn't treating her fairly. He had no reason to mistrust her. But for the first time since he had met her on that road, Patrick felt unsure. Was he the man that Shelagh truly deserved? Too old, poor and overworked, what kind of match was he for the sweetest, kindest, loveliest of women? He couldn't get the thought of her laughing up at Jim Carson out of his mind.

Heels clicked in the hallway outside his office. It was getting ridiculous, he thought. Now he was hearing her footsteps. Shaking his head to clear it, Patrick reached down into a drawer and took out the next batch of files.

"Patrick?"

He looked up and saw Shelagh in the door of his office.

Astonished, he said, "You're supposed to be at the party."

Shelagh smiled. "No, I'm supposed to be here with you." She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. "Why did you leave?"

"I had to come back here."

"I realize that. But why did you leave _me_?" The wrinkle in her forehead signalled Shelagh's confusion.

"I didn't want you to miss the celebration because of me," Patrick hedged.

"I didn't want to go to a party, Patrick. I wanted to be with you." She slowly walked towards him.

"It's kind of you to say that, but it's not true, Shelagh."

She had reached his desk, only a foot or two away. "I took a cab to get here. I've never paid for a cab in my life, and you know it." He had, in fact, teased her several times about her refusal to spend money on such an extravagance. One more step, and she would be within arms reach. "A bus would never get me back to you quickly enough. We've been apart too much, dearest. I want to be here with you."

She hadn't finished speaking before they were in each other's arms, just holding one another. After a few moments, he asked, "Forgive me?"

"Whatever for, Patrick?"

He realized that she had no idea of his jealousy. In her inexperience she had only recognized the tension between them, not the cause. "I've behaved badly. I've missed you so much." He couldn't explain himself, or his weakness.

"Patrick?" He knew the look in her eyes was only for him. "Aren't you going to kiss me?"

Patrick let out a quick breath. His hand came up around the back of Shelagh's neck as he pressed his mouth to hers. Her soft lips yielded to the pressure of his as he coaxed them apart, her tongue tentatively meeting his, as it always did when he first kissed her. The intimacy and familiarity of the kiss comforted him. The distance that had grown between them disappeared and he could feel the unease lifting. Shelagh was his, for always.

Patrick was right. Not a single woman went into labor that night. Even so, his paperwork did not get finished.


	13. Chapter 13: A First Blessing

The warm sunshine made it easy to forget that it was still only February. Wedding plans were well underway, as Timothy had progressed so far in his treatment that he would be discharged at the end of the month. A few days home to get used to the world outside again, and then they would be a family in fact as well as perception.

The reconciliation with Nonnatus House had a curious effect on the wedding preparations. Delighted to learn that the Turner wedding would be a grander affair, the nurses and nuns of the community decided that their services were vital to the proper planning of the event. Shelagh found that rather than being overwhelmed by preparations, she in fact was able to continue her with her visits to Timothy, and still have time for Patrick. Every task from Shelagh's dress to the church music and the party afterwards had been assigned to an eager assistant.

The dress became the most talked about topic of the women, with even Sister Evangelina joining in the debate. "I say: jump in with both feet. White lace, veil, the whole nine yards. If you're going to do something, pull out all the stops! No sense in trying to downplay it, anyway. This will be the most talked about wedding in Poplar since the Queen's. Might as well have a good time while we're at it!"

Shelagh bloomed under all this attention. Her confidence grew as she found her place in this in-between life. By mutual decision, her time at the hospital was cut back. She let Jenny and Cynthia take her shopping for some new clothes, joined Trixie at the beauty salon (although one afternoon spent with the smell of peroxide was enough to convince Shelagh that her own dark blonde locks were just fine, thank you very much) and became a frequent visitor for tea at the Noakes'.

The new Shelagh delighted both Patrick and Timothy. Her happy mood was contagious, and the Turner men couldn't help but respond to it. Patrick had more patience for his long days now that he and Shelagh had worked out a way to see more of each other. Timothy benefitted most of all. His muscles grew stronger and he became more skilled with his leg braces. Even school lessons were exciting as the return date approached.

As Timothy's recovery progressed, he was slowly allowed more visitors. The first granted privileges was his grandmother. Shelagh had met Mrs. Parker shortly before the original wedding date, but unfortunately, the meeting had been an uncomfortable one. Shelagh was eager to appear respectful of Patrick's first wife. Anne Parker was eager to appear understanding of the change in her son-in-law's life. Patrick was eager to protect the feelings of both women. With all that eagerness, the afternoon could not end quickly enough for anyone.

For her part, Mrs. Parker was surprised by Patrick's choice of new wife. Shelagh was quite different from her Margaret, in both look and manner. This timid, quiet woman had been a nun, after all. What could she know of the affection and joy a wife and mother should bring to a home?

As it turned out, Patrick could not be there during Mrs. Parker's hospital visits. The first time Timothy' s grandmother walked on to the ward, Shelagh felt her heart plummet. They had just finished a difficult lesson on geometry, and Timothy was fractious. Anxious to please, Shelagh found herself falling into old patterns and retired to the background, and Anne Parker's first impression did not change.

Timothy felt the strain between the two women. He wasn't sure why, but his grandmother did not seem to take to Shelagh, _at all_. He tried to put himself in the older woman's shoes, but aside from the obvious, could not think of any reason for her prejudice against Shelagh. He did not understand that the obvious is sometimes reason enough.

By mid-February, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Shelagh was out with for what he hoped was the last dress fitting ("Women!" he lamented), and he was alone with his grandmother.

"You don't like Shelagh, do you, Granny?" he asked.

"I don't know what you mean, Timothy. I hardly know her. How could I possibly have formed an opinion of her, one way or the other? Besides, it doesn't do to for one to ask such awkward questions."

Timothy would not be put off. "Shelagh's wonderful, Granny. She's kind and pretty, and she has ever so much patience with me during my lessons."

"She's lovely dear, and I'm sure she'll make your father very happy." This conversation must end, she thought.

"She does, Granny. Really, she does. I haven't seen Dad so happy, not for a really, really long time. She makes us both happy." He reached for his grandmother's hand. "It doesn't mean we don't still miss Mummy, you know. And Shelagh knows that. She talks to me about her all the time."

"Shelagh talks to you about your mother?" She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"Yes. When we were getting ready for Christmas, Shelagh helped me find Mum's Christmas decorations, so we could dress up the house like the old days. And when I was really sick, she helped me remember things about Mummy that I'd forgotten."

"Why did she do that?"

"Shelagh's mum died when she was little, too. She told me she never had anyone to talk about her with, and it made her miss her mum even more. Shelagh says that it's important to keep your mum in your heart, and to remember her, because it's like making a 'love quilt,' she calls it." Timothy blushed. He _was_ a bit embarrassed to say that part. "When you feel lonely, you can take it out and wrap yourself up in it." He paused for a moment. "I use it here, at night, especially. It makes me feel better."

Anne Parker fought back tears. She didn't cry, or hadn't for a long time. "I'm glad Shelagh has been such a help to you, Timothy. Don't you worry about me. I'm just a cross old lady."

"Not old, Granny. Shelagh says a lady is _never _old."

Several days later, Shelagh received a letter,

My dear Shelagh,

I am sure you, with your loving heart, must know that the loss of my daughter has been the tragedy of my life. Margaret was a vibrant and loving woman, and the greatest achievement of my life was raising her. Her death was a terrible blow, and I will never fill the void that has been left.

Patrick has been lucky enough to find love again. For that alone I was prepared to accept you. But you have brought him back to life, and helped my daughter's son discover the depth of his own mother's love for him. My Margaret, if she could have planned their lives after her passing, would have chosen exactly this. I will always be grateful to you.

Though I was prepared to accept you, I never expected to love you for your own sake. You are a blessed woman. You bring devotion, tenderness and warmth wherever you go. I thank you for loving my family.

Thankfully yours,

Anne Parker


	14. Chapter 14 A First First

She was so beautiful, lying there asleep. Patrick turned on his side, watching her. The tranquility she radiated when awake was magnified by her stillness as she slept. His smile grew wider as he waited for his favorite moment of the day. Every single morning he was mesmerized by her beauty, and couldn't believe anything could be lovelier than his wife as she slept. That is, until she opened her eyes.

Patrick was very pleased with himself. Shelagh prided herself on her ability to rise before the sun every day. Years of late night deliveries and early morning Lauds had trained her to rise from bed, no matter how tired. But since their marriage nearly three days ago, Shelagh had not awakened before seven one single time. She must be tired, he smirked to himself.

He watched as she slowly awakened. First, she pressed against him, still lightly asleep. Then her lungs filled with a deep breath, and her eyelids flickered open. There. That was the moment. Patrick pressed a light kiss to her lips.

"Good morning, beautiful wife," he murmured.

"Hmmmm," Shelagh purred. She stretched the length of her body against his and wound her arms around his neck. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" he laughed.

"Watch me. Every morning I wake to see you lying there watching me sleep." Her arms tightened and she kissed his neck.

"I can't help it. I have to. It's not my fault you're so beautiful."

A low sound came from her throat as she pulled his head down to her lips. "You think I'm beautiful?" she whispered.

"You know I do," he whispered back.

"Then prove it."

Patrick laughed. His Shelagh had embraced this side of marriage with a zeal he hadn't expected.

Four days ago, he had not thought it possible.

* * *

The week before the wedding was a frenzy of activity. Timothy returned home from the hospital and began his adjustment to the outside world. Patience is not a ten-year-old boy's greatest virtue, and Patrick and Shelagh were challenged to help him rejoin his world, albeit a bit more slowly than he would have liked. Wedding preparations compounded the chaos. By Friday night, Patrick was worn out.

Yet somehow, alone and smoking in the garden, a tired Patrick found he missed the frenzy. Now he could feel his nerves rising without the distractions of the past week. One subject kept returning to the front of his mind: the wedding night.

How on earth was he going to handle that? Shelagh was a virgin, a former nun, and she must be terrified of what was to come. As a midwife she obviously had an understanding of the mechanics of marital love, and in these past months he had detected an enthusiasm for their brief intimacies. But her time as a nun had taught her to push aside the demands of the body. Where would that leave them tomorrow night?

Patrick lit another cigarette. He would have to be patient. To be her husband would be his greatest joy. Shelagh in his home, as his wife, as mother to his son, would always be enough. He could wait to be her lover. She had given up her whole life to be with him. He could be patient. He hoped.

The reception wound down and Patrick felt his nerves resurface on the drive home. Shelagh was so incredibly beautiful in her bridal gown. As he put the car in park, he said, "Shall we, Mrs. Turner?"

Shelagh giggled. "I think we'd better, Dr. Turner. I look silly sitting in a car in this dress!"

He laughed, relieving some of his tension, and came around the car to help her out. They walked to the front door together and Patrick surprised her by swinging her up into his arms. "Home at last, wife!"

Shelagh rested her head on his shoulder as he opened the door and carried her across the threshold.

"I forget how lovely you can be, Patrick. You're very sweet." She kissed him, lightly pressing her lips to his. It was the first kiss they had exchanged since the ceremony. "But you should put me down, now. It won't do to have you throw your back out, you know."

Patrick put her down and felt the playfulness escape the room. He was nervous again.

"It's..it's still early. Would you like to change? We could go for a drive... or a walk, perhaps?"

Shelagh looked at him with a question in her eyes. She considered him for a moment, trying to read his eyes. Then she smiled, as if she had just remembered something. "No, Patrick, dearest. I don't think I'd like to take a walk."

"You wouldn't?" he asked.

"No. And I don't want to take a drive, either." Her smile changed a bit, and Patrick felt an emotion other than nervousness take over.

"You don't?"

"No, Patrick."

"Oh. Then what _do_ you want to do?"

"Oh, I think you can guess," Shelagh said, and throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed her husband.

Knocked a little unbalanced, Patrick leaned back against the wall. He wrapped his arms around her slim waist and held her close. Her kiss pressed against his mouth, innocently demanding a response. Happy to oblige, Patrick moved his lips against hers and felt the tip of her tongue tease a response. With a groan, he answered her request, exploring her mouth. The kiss quickly escalated, and Patrick could feel himself begin to lose control.

Placing his hands on her shoulders, Patrick broke the kiss and put some air between them. Shelagh's eyes were glazed as she opened them. "Patrick?" she asked.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I'm afraid I got carried away. Maybe we _should_ go for that walk, after all."

She shook her head. "No, Patrick." Her head tucked under his chin. He remembered that when she was nervous, she would look away from his eyes. He waited for her to speak.

"Both feet, Patrick. I have to jump in with both feet. I want to be a good wife to you, I do. In every way. But…"

"You're nervous?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Good," he smiled.

"_Good_? How can that be good?" she asked, finally meeting his eyes.

"Because I am terrified," he admitted. "It's been a very long time for me, and I'm very much afraid that I will frighten you, or hurt you, or worse."

Shelagh regarded her new husband. The nervousness she had detected in his eyes when they first arrived home was fully blown now. She took a deep breath. "I'm not frightened, Patrick. I know what to expect tonight, or at least I _think_ I do. I've thought about this-"

"You've thought about this?" he interrupted. The idea of Shelagh considering the act that had consumed his dreams for months stunned him.

Shelagh smiled, and traced the line of his jaw. "Of course, I have. I love you, Patrick. In every way." She kissed him. Still concerned, Patrick kept the kiss light. It was going to be more difficult to be patient than he thought.

Shelagh pulled back and smiled. She realized in that moment that words were getting in the way. Placing her hand in Patrick's she turned for the stairs.

"Sweetheart?" he asked.

"Both feet, Patrick."


	15. Chapter 15 A First Clinic

Shelagh stared in the mirror, hardly recognizing herself. Dressed in a neat and tailored suit, smart heels and her hair back in her customary twist, she looked every inch the efficient and confident woman she was pretending to be. Were there signs of the anxiety she felt, she wondered? Could anyone see the nerves she felt twisting in her stomach?

She shook her head. "Don't be silly," she whispered to herself. "You are a very blessed woman. There is absolutely no reason to feel nervous."

A deep breath and a rustle of sheets came from the bed. She looked over at her husband, reluctantly climbing back up to consciousness. She smiled, and turned to watch Patrick wake up. A stretch, then a groan, then another deep breath, and his eyes fluttered open. "Watching me sleep again?" he asked.

"Watching you wake, sweetheart." She stepped over to the bed and reached down to kiss him. "Good morning."

His arms came up around her and he swiftly brought her down on the bed next to him. "Morning. Come back to bed," he whispered, nuzzling her neck. She loved the feel of his bristly chin on her skin in the morning, and another day, might have accepted the invitation. But not today.

She pushed against him and sat up on the bed. "Much to do, I'm afraid. Time to get up, sleepyhead." She took a quick look to check her hair.

"I didn't want to sleep," he muttered. "What's all the fuss about?"

"My first clinic today."

"Oh, right." He rubbed his face. "That explains the serious suit."

"I thought you liked this suit."

"I do. You're lovely in it. Very efficient. But I prefer you out of it, that's all." He smiled and swung his feet out of the bed. "Better face the day, I suppose."

"Eggs or porridge this morning?" Shelagh laughed.

"You have to ask?"

* * *

Standing outside the doors to the Seamen's Hall, Shelagh clenched her hands. She wished Patrick had been able to arrive with her, but his morning calls were booked solid, she knew, and he would barely make it to the clinic on time as it was.

"Why are you so nervous?" he had asked as they finished breakfast.

"Easy, Dad. It's the first time she's going where she'll be 'Mrs. Turner' and not 'Sister Bernadette'" Timothy explained.

"Tim!" Patrick scolded.

"No, he's right, Patrick." Shelagh moved to the sink to finish the morning dishes.

"It's always been just one or two people at a time, Dad" Tim explained. "Today there'll be a whole hall full of eyes watching her. It's like she's on display."

Shelagh turned. "I'm not a zoo animal, Timothy. Let's not exaggerate. But today will be the first time I'm back in my old world with my new identity."

"The place will be filled with those that love you, sweetheart, that's the difference. And so many others respect you. You're not alone, remember. And I'll be there, of course, to slay any dragons," her husband assured her.

"Just don't expect him to slay the early dragons," Timothy grinned.

Now, Shelagh pushed open the door of the hall. "Deep breath, straight shoulders," she thought. She was the first one there, as hoped. Now she could settle things the way she liked them. Tables moved, curtains set, and soon the room began to resemble an ante-natal clinic.

"Hello, Mrs. Turner," called Cynthia Miller as she entered the hall.

"Hello, Nurse Miller," she responded. Shelagh and the other nurses had become quite close friends in the last months, but, as in the past, they all assumed the formal titles when on the job.

"You've been busy," Cynthia looked around the room. "I didn't think this place could ever do the job for us."

"Well, don't get to used to it. The Hall's only available today and next week we'll be back at the Leopold Institute. I signed on to help find a permanent location, so with luck we'll find something soon."

Cynthia smiled. "I'm so glad you're back with us, Shelagh. We've missed you." Putting her bag down, she looked shyly at her friend. "Shelagh, may I ask you a question? It's a bit personal, and of course you don't have to answer it. I will quite understand."

Shelagh was curious. Cynthia was as reticent as she was herself, and not one to ask personal questions. Still, Shelagh had learned that sharing was a sign of friendly trust. "Go right ahead. If it's too much, I'll just blush and we can go move the last curtains."

Cynthia nodded. "I was wondering. I know you're very happy with your new life, and I am so glad of it, really. I think you've made a lovely new life for yourself."

"But?"

"Not but, really, just, well, do you ever miss it? Your old life? It was so very important to you for so long, and you are such a gifted midwife. Do you ever wish to go back to some of it? Perhaps join us as a midwife again?" Cynthia blushed herself.

This was not exactly the question Shelagh imagined would come from her friend, but not an entirely surprising one. She considered her response for a moment. "No," she answered slowly. Then she shook her head and said more firmly, "No. I have no regrets about my previous life, Cynthia. Not about my life with the Order, or my career as a midwife. But in the last year, I've learned a great deal about myself. I learned that up until recently, I've always kept myself on the periphery of life. I was afraid to experience its messiness and pain. I think that's one of the reasons why I chose the religious life, and midwifery, too. Both allowed me to be on the fringes of deeply emotional life experiences, without having to live with the consequences. I could be of service to people who really needed me, but didn't have to risk anything of myself. It amazed me how my Sisters could immerse themselves personally in the confusion of life."

Cynthia nodded. "I sometimes wonder that about myself. Is being shy keeping me from the world?"

Shelagh agreed. "Yes, exactly. My doubt in my vocation came from that realization. Then I became ill. In the Sanitorium I prayed for guidance so often. I began to understand that I was using my faith and my service as a way of staying on the outside. When I decided to embrace my love for Patrick and Timothy, I was deciding to step into the very middle of life. Messy, terrifying, lovely life. I don't need to be a midwife any longer to get a taste of it. Perhaps someday I'll go back. Right now, I have quite enough to manage as it is!"  
Cynthia smiled softly. "I'm so very glad for you, Shelagh. You seem so certain about who you are, now. Before, you always seemed to be just a bit, I don't know, solitary? And I don't think it suited you, quite. I'm so pleased you've found happiness." She reached out and squeezed Shelagh's hand.

The doors to the Hall opened again, and nurses and nuns began to file in. Shelagh whispered to Cynthia, "_You_ step into life, my dear. Shyness is just part of you, it's not all of you. I've never seen you back down from life. Trust yourself."

As the clinic wound down and the room restored to it's former identity, Patrick approached his wife.

"Any dragons for me to slay?" he asked with a wink in his eye.

"No, Patrick. I'm not sure any even appeared today. If they did, I didn't notice them."


	16. Chapter 16 A First Picnic

A/N: I'm totally faking it with the cricket stuff. Any tips on mistakes made would be appreciated!

* * *

Summer was at its height, and Patrick had managed to take a few days off from the practice. A picnic had been arranged for his old university cricket team and he was eager to attend. "I haven't been in years," he told Shelagh. "It'll be good to go. You don't mind, do you?" Since her surgery, Shelagh was still a bit tender, in many ways.

"No, of course I don't mind. It will be nice to get out of the city. A change would do me good Patrick," she smiled. "A step forward."

* * *

"Mum, have you packed my cricket bat?" Timothy shouted from the garden that morning. "I can't find it!"

"Yes, Timothy. It's in the boot." Ever since she and Patrick had loosened the reins on Timothy's activities, the boy had become obsessed with cricket. As he wasn't able to run quite yet, his team let him focus on bowling and batting_. _Another boy would run for him, and Timothy had developed a bowling strategy that didn't require much of a run-up. If Timothy's dinner table tales were anything to go by, he was fast becoming the best batsman in the neighborhood, and was known as the bowler no batter wanted to face in the pitch.

"Shelagh, is the basket ready to go out?" Patrick came in to the kitchen. Shelagh had insisted that he get new cricket whites, and she was glad she had. He turned around, showing off the look. "Will I do?" he asked.

Shelagh sighed. The new flannels were just right for him, she thought. Usually such a serious man, in these clothes he seemed carefree today. Perhaps they really were on the road to recovery. "You'll do." She fiddled with the neckline of his jumper. "You look very handsome, Patrick."

He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "I have to keep up, you know. My wife's a knockout!" and with a quick kiss he turned towards the door. "Come on, Tim! We have a long drive ahead! Can't be late, they'd never recognize me!"

* * *

The last time Shelagh went on to a picnic, she was younger than Timothy. The beaches of Aberdeen were wide and flat, a favorite spot of her father's to fly his kites. Her mother would pack up a basket and the three of them would ride the bus out to the shore nearly every summer Sunday. The picnics stopped when her mother became ill, of course, and never resumed. The kites were forgotten, and Shelagh hadn't been on a picnic since.

On this green field in Essex the setting for a picnic couldn't be more different, yet Shelagh could feel the old emotions come to the surface. Her surgery had brought so many feelings back. That was the price she had to pay, she reasoned. A lifetime of emotional stasis had helped her in those times of great pain. But now, having allowed herself to experience the tremendous joy of her love for Patrick and Timothy, she knew she would have to accept the suffering of her broken heart.

Shelagh tried hard not to be melodramatic about it. All her life she had been taught to take a deep breath, straighten her shoulders, and move forward. Challenges were to be faced then marched past. She tried that, after she was physically healed. Timothy's recovery, assisting at Nonnatus House, those things helped to move her forward. But this time, she found she couldn't simply replace the pain with activity. Finally, she would have to face it.

Taking a deep breath, straightening her shoulders, Shelagh stepped out of the car.

"All right?" Patrick asked, curious. "They're not such a bad bunch. They'll all love you, I promise."

"All is well, dearest," Shelagh answered, her heart in her eyes. "Now take me to your friends."

Carrying their basket, Patrick led the way to his old friends.

"Turner!" a man cried out.

All eyes turned towards them, and several men jogged up to join them. Amid much backslapping, the group of old friends reaquainted themselves. Patrick turned to Shelagh and said, "Gentlemen, you've met our Timothy, though he's grown a bit since you've seen him. And beside him is my lovely wife, Shelagh. Please don't try to frighten her off with false tales of my misspent youth. I have no idea how I won such a prize, and would hate to have her learn the truth about my past!"

Laughter rose up from the group, and one man stepped forward. "Allow me to introduce myself, my dear Mrs. Turner. I am David Stradley, and there is no better man here for telling tales of your husband."

"Except perhaps me," retorted another man. "Douglas Randall, former flatmate. The tales I have could curl young Tim's hair!"

"Hey!" cried Timothy.

Shelagh chuckled in response. "Thank you gentlemen, for your kind offer of information. I'll let you know if I need it."

Several women had joined the group, and soon introductions went all around. "Don't worry. We don't expect you to remember any of our names. We'll remind you. And don't listen to a thing the men tell you. Patrick was always the best of them! Jealous bunch, the whole lot of them!" Sarah Randall assured her. "I was at university for a few years with them, before I married Douglas. Patrick was always a good friend to us." She took Shelagh's arm and whispered, "I'm so glad you found each other; Patrick looks so very happy. One day, when we're close enough friends, I want you to tell me the whole romantic story. All Patrick would tell us was that you had brought him back to life."

Shelagh's breath caught. She was uncertain how to reply. A smile spread across her face at the thought of Patrick using such lovely words and Sarah squeezed her arm. "With such a lovely smile, it's easy to see why!"

Patrick had rejoined them and took Shelagh's free arm. "This one you can listen to, Shelagh," he told his wife. "Sarah will be certain to tell the good stories, if only to keep you for a friend. Now, where should I tell the chaps to place our basket?"

The lovely morning became an even lovelier afternoon. It was obvious to Shelagh that despite rarely seeing each other, this long-standing group of friends had deep roots. The camaraderie between them fascinated her, and she was glad to be a part of it, if only a new part.

"Shelagh, you're from Scotland," began Stradley.

"Oh, right-oh!" cried Randall.

"So clever, Strad! How did you guess?" teased Andrew Grey.

"You're all so very clever," retorted Stradley. "No wonder you all received firsts in Chemistry."

"That one's mine! I called three-quarters of an hour!" crowed Patrick.

Shelagh looked at him, confused.

"Stradley always manages to fit it that he was the only first in Chemistry," he laughed. "I guessed he'd only last forty-five minutes this time."

"It's your's, Turner." Randall handed over a ten pound note.

Shelagh gasped. "Patrick!" It wasn't like him to be so profligate with money.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. It's the same tenner we've passed about since graduation. The first one was taken off of Stradley, so it only seemed right," he explained, laughing.

Taking pity on poor Stradley, Shelagh turned to him. "You were about to ask me something, David?"

"Thank you, my dear. It's nice to see such a mannerly person among such ruffians." Laughter all around again. "I was about to ask you if you had much cricket in Scotland. How well you know the game?"

"Not well at all, I'm afraid. I've listened to a few, what were they called?" she looked at Patrick.

"Test Matches, dearest," Patrick answered courteously. Stradley ignored him.

"Yes, I listened to a few test matches with Patrick and Timothy, but I never did quite get the jist of the game, I'm afraid."

"Mum isn't very interested in sports, Mr. Stradley," Timothy offered.

"I beg your pardon, young man," Shelagh faced her step-son. "Simply because I don't follow your oh-so-English sport _does not _mean I do not follow any games. There are many sports in Scotland about which I am sure I am much more qualified than you to discuss."

Patrick saw the gleam in her eye, and knew where she was headed with this.

"Really?" Timothy asked, a little smug. "Name a Scottish sport you know _anything_ about."

Shelagh and Patrick looked each other in the eye and answered in unison, "Cabering!"

Laughter broke out in the group again. When it had died down, Tim said, "I don't get it. What's cabering?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to look it up," Shelagh advised him.

"You'll find, son, that your mum's skills in handling us are quite similar!" Patrick warned.

The men took to the pitch, joined by several of the children. Timothy approached Shelagh and whispered in her ear. She nodded and said in a hushed voice, "I'll remind you about the butterflies you wanted to catch, then." With a quick smile, Timothy trotted out on to the field.

Shelagh was proud to see that several of the players deferred to Patrick. As the game progressed, even Timothy was impressed by his father's skills. Still unsure about many of the rules, she recognized that Patrick seemed to be quite an excellent bowler. Smiling to herself, she wasn't surprised that he hadn't mentioned it.

"That's a lovely, secret smile," Sarah told her. "I'll bet he never told you he was so good, did he?"

"Not such a secret smile, then, is it? No, he's never mentioned it. I do like watching Timothy watch him, though. They don't get enough chances to have fun together."

"None of us do, I'm afraid." Sarah dusted some leaves from her skirt. "What did Timothy say to you as he headed to the pitch?"

Shelagh looked out at the boy, watching as he trotted his funny braced-legged run. "His legs ache, sometimes. He doesn't like other children to know, so he gives me a sign and I call him in. That way he can grumble about me to his friends and save face."

"That's clever. I wished I had used that when young Douglas broke his arm. He's twenty, now, studying at St. Andrews. He thinks he wants to become a scientist."

"How lovely. Timothy tells us that after he plays cricket for a few years, he intends to be a lepidopterist." At her friend's enquiring glance, she added, "Butterflies. He loves them. He once told me that's how he thinks of me," she finished shyly.

Sarah smiled. "I said before how glad I was that Patrick found you. Now I'm glad for Timothy, too."

"Oh, no. I'm so very lucky to have both of them. I've never been so happy."

She stopped then, realizing what she had just said. The truth of it was overwhelming for a moment.

"Shelagh?" Sarah asked.

"I'm a very lucky woman," Shelagh told her new friend.

The ladies clapped as the fielders came off the field to rejoin their wives. Patrick plopped down next to Shelagh on the picnic blanket, grinning ear to ear. He leaned back on his elbows and preened a bit. Winking, he asked, "Impressed?"

Shelagh couldn't help but return his grin. "Yes, dear. Apparently you're very good."

"_Apparently_?" Patrick demanded. "I bowled a near perfect over, Shelagh. Not bad for an old man," he sulked. He hadn't impressed a lady with his cricket skills in a long time, and a bit of adulation would not have gone amiss.

Shelagh leaned in a bit closer. "You're not at all old, Patrick. And you were very impressive."

"Really?" he responded, turning his body towards her. The others were fading away.

"Really. If I understood the game at all, I'm sure I would recognize a superior athlete." She looked up at him coyly, her hand sneaking around his forearm. "I like watching you out there."

Their eyes lingered, reading secrets no one else could see. "Do you?" he encouraged. Since her surgery, Shelagh had become more reticent. This spark of awareness he saw return to her eyes was captivating.

"Yes, Patrick." Shelagh blushed. "You looked very happy out there on the field."

"It's called a pitch, sweetheart," he whispered. "But I'm even happier here, next to you." No longer aware of the others sitting around them, Patrick leaned in to press a light kiss on her mouth. Her breath caught but rather than pull back, Shelagh tightened her grip on his forearm and kissed him back.

"Cor, Turner! There are kids here!" Randall teased. When he got no response, he threw his towel at Patrick's head. Abruptly, the two broke apart, blushing.

"Snogging at a cricket match! What would Coach Martin've said, hey chaps?" Good-hearted laughter broke up from around the group as Timothy and the other boys returned with more food.

"What's going on, Dad?" Anthony Randall, aged thirteen, asked.

"Just a bit of fun, lad," his father answered. "It seems that some of us are enjoying the fruits of our cricket labours, so to speak."

Patrick stood up from the blanket. "Well, you can all sit around here and make fun, but I am going to take my beautiful wife for a walk. Shelagh?" he asked, holding out his hand.

Shelagh tried valiantly to refrain from blushing yet again and failed spectacularly. "A walk would be lovely, Patrick."

"Be back soon, Tim," Patrick told his son as they ambled off towards the pond.

They strolled along the edge of the pond, hand in hand. As they came to a private spot beneath a willow, Patrick tugged Shelagh close. He smiled as he leaned down to kiss his wife. He felt like he had when they were first married, carefree and jubilant. Shelagh's unrestrained response thrilled him. Looking into her eyes he said, " Not too bad, today?"

"It's been lovely, Patrick. Everyone has been very sweet. And Timothy is having a wonderful time. I'm very glad we came."

"That boy would be happy wherever there's a pitch and wickets!" Patrick led her to sit on a grassy spot. "You seem different, today," he said cautiously.

"I am different, today." Shelagh looked up into his face. "I love you very much, Patrick. I don't tell you enough. You've been so wonderful to me during this time, so understanding. And I've been very selfish. All this time I've thought about my own pain, never yours. I know you wanted a baby, too."

He caressed her cheek. "Shelagh, love, don't worry about me. All I want is for you to feel better."

"I know. And I do. Really, Patrick." She leaned in and kissed him. "I am so very happy with you, and Timothy. You're all I need. Anything else would be lovely, but with you two, I'm completely, utterly happy. Unbelievably happy. Unimaginably happy. Implausibly-"

Patrick caught her last words with his lips. They hadn't used that joke for a long time, and his own joy was thrilling. His hands tangled in her hair holding her to him as he kissed her deeply. She returned the kiss, arms wrapped around his waist. Long moments later, they parted, breathing heavily.

"You're back," he whispered.

"I'm back, Patrick," she returned. A saucy grin on her face, she said, "I've had such a wonderful day, dearest. But when can we go home?"


	17. Chapter 17 : A First Breach

Timothy was unnerved. The tension in the house was thick, although he couldn't find a reason for it. Hearing his parents' terse conversation that morning, he knew something was wrong, but he was afraid to ask about the appointment with the adoption agency last night. Perhaps it didn't go well. They were already a happy family, he thought. Surely the lady from the agency could see that? He was turning out all right, didn't that stand for something?

As he walked to the bus for school that morning, Tim brooded. Something was definitely wrong. In fact, Dad had seemed a bit off the last week or so. Not unhappy, but a bit distracted. Maybe it was a patient, Tim thought. Sometimes when Dad couldn't help someone, he got gloomy. That hadn't happened since Shelagh came home from the Sanitorium, though. Even when she was recovering from her surgery, Dad had been hopeful. Now, he most definitely wasn't.

Even more worrisome was Mum. After she had gotten over her initial disappointment that summer, she rebounded. And once she had let him play outside again, everything was just about perfect. The happy spring became an even happier summer.

This morning she was different, though. Almost angry. For the first time, he was relieved the trip to his new school required that he get out of the house early. Maybe they had a fight, he wondered. Sometimes Dad got a bit bossy, which didn't go over well with Mum. Tim thought it was quite funny, actually, that Dad even tried. Mum had survived living with Sister Evangelina for a long time without getting trampled on. Dad was small potatoes compared to that formidable nun.

Out in the early autumn air, Tim was starting to feel better already. Their arguments never lasted long. And the next day, his parents always seemed happier, for some reason. They smiled a lot.

* * *

A week later, however, things were no better at home. Now, instead of short, clipped conversations, there was little talk at all. Dad stayed at the surgery later than usual, and was on call every night. When Tim asked about it, his father told him that he was simply picking up the slack from all the time he'd been taking off this year. Even more unusual, Dad left for the surgery early each day, and he _never_ did that. He liked his mornings with them, he always said.

Shelagh didn't seem angry anymore, but was very quiet, even for her. She was in constant motion. Their already neat and tidy house was neater and tidier, and each day a new dish appeared on the table. She spent longer hours at Nonnatus, as well, though Timothy knew she never stayed late after the clinic or surgery anymore.

Today, Timothy came home to the unprecedented sight of two puddings ready for dinner. His eyes lit up as he spied the treats.

"Don't get your hopes up, Timothy. We'll only have one tonight. The other will wait 'til tomorrow," his stepmother said.

"Why two, though?" Timothy asked.

"The apples looked good at the market today, and I wanted to try something new, that's all."

"Dad'll be happy. He loves apples."

Shelagh smiled, a strange, tight smile, and moved back to the stove. She was still keeping herself busy in the kitchen when Patrick came home for dinner.

In the morning, Timothy found a letter from the Agency in the mail bin. Here was some hope, he thought. But he was sent out to wait in the car, denied a chance to see what was going on.

Anxiously, Tim waited for his father. Surely, the letter from the agency would force his father to say something. Patrick climbed into the car and Timothy was met with silence. After several minutes of this, he could stand no more.

"Aren't you going to say anything? What was in the letter?" His nerves made him sound sharper than he meant.

"Watch your tone, Timothy. You're speaking to your father." Patrick's voice was just as sharp.

Timothy stared out the window. He felt a sadness he hadn't felt in a very long time. Even during his darkest days at the hospital he had known that his family would be there for him. Now, he wasn't so confident. Fighting back tears became too difficult, and a strangled sob broke from his chest.

Startled, his father glanced at him. "What's wrong? Is it your lungs? Do they hurt?" He slid the car over to the curb and turned to Timothy. "Son, look at me."

Timothy shook his head. "No. You'll only be short with me. I just want to know what's going on, but you never tell me _anything_. You and Mum are fighting, and I don't know why, and she's unhappy, and you're in a mood all the time, and I'm just so confused." Ashamed, he wiped his hand across his face, erasing the evidence of his unhappiness.

They sat in silence, the only sound Timothy's ragged breathing. Finally, Patrick said, "I'm sorry, son. You're right. I haven't been very pleasant to be around, lately, have I?" He passed a hand over his own face. "I've had things on my mind. Things I can't really talk about. But I should have told you about the letter straight away. It affects you as much as anyone else. The agency has approved us as adoptive parents. Your mum and I-" He stopped speaking, and the silence grew between them again.

"Better get you off to school, then," Patrick said finally, and turned the car back into traffic.

Timothy fretted all day. Walking home from school with Shelagh, he was much quieter than usual. After a few moments, she asked, "Did your father tell you about the letter, dear?" She hadn't called him Timothy dearest in days.

"Yes," his response brief.

Shelagh took a deep breath. "And what do you think?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he answered. That wasn't quite true, though. Talking with Shelagh, even when she was still Sister Bernadette, had always helped make things feel better. This time, though, she was sad, too. He didn't want to hurt her even more with his own problems.

They were passing the small park where Timothy liked to stop sometimes when his legs were bothering him. Shelagh gently took his arm and led him to a bench.

"I think we have to, dearest. I hate to see you upset." She fiddled with the handle of her purse. "Have you changed your mind about the baby? Your father and I meant it when we said this was a decision we all had to be in favor of. If you're having second thoughts, please tell me. I won't be angry, I promise."

"It's not the baby. A new baby would be great," he answered in a low voice.

Shelagh smiled. "Your enthusiasm is overwhelming, Timothy," she joked mildly.

Then it all came out in a rush. "It's not the baby, really. But everything is so strange at home. I can tell there's something wrong, and no one will tell me anything. It's so very confusing, it was all fine and then suddenly everything's all, I don't know, unhappy." He could see he had upset his mum, and for the second time that day he fought tears.

Shelagh sat quietly for a few moments, letting him regain his composure while wrestling her own anxiety. "You're right," she said. "Things have been strange, lately. But you've done nothing wrong. Your father and I have hit a slippery patch. We'll find a way through it, Timothy, I promise. It will take some time, though." She sat still, listening to the street noises. "I'm still quite new at this, I'm afraid, Timothy dearest. For so long I kept my feelings to myself. I never shared my fears or worries, and I used prayer to keep them at bay. I promise I'll get better at this."

He slipped his hand in hers. Shelagh smiled at the gesture, knowing how he usually hated anything that seemed to "little boyish."

"I love you, Timothy. Your father loves you. We're a family. We'll find some sort of solution, I promise. It _will_ get better."

* * *

That night dad was out late again, stopping in to see the Noakes family. When he came home, the house stayed quiet. Timothy frowned in his bed. Before, when Dad came home he would stop in to say good night, then go back down to listen to the radio or talk with Mum. Slipping out of bed, Timothy crept down the stairs. He could see Dad in the kitchen getting a cup of tea, then heard his father say something to Mum as he passed into the sitting room. Her answer was quiet, too quiet for Tim to pick up, and Dad's voice was different. Tim couldn't hear his words, but the tone was emotional. He couldn't help himself, and tiptoed down the hallway to listen.

"Let that be the thing that matters," Mum said.

"Come here," Dad said to her softly after a moment, and Timothy could hear the relief in his father's voice. Silence followed, and Tim knew matters were different. He should go now, he knew, but he wanted to hear them happy again.

"I'm so sorry, Patrick. I should have given you the chance to tell me. I could tell there was something wrong, but I was afraid to face it. All I could think of was a baby. I should have made you speak to me. And then I was so angry. I had never been so angry with anyone before. I thought you didn't trust me, that you didn't want to share this with me because you thought I was too inexperienced, or naïve. I thought it meant you didn't think I could help." Timothy could hear her sigh. He wondered if she was crying. "Then as I cooled down a bit, I realized that perhaps I hadn't given you the chance, that I had let my own insecurities get in the way. For all our time together it's been about me, and the changes_ I_ had to go through. We never talked about your past. Only bits a pieces."

"Shelagh, sweetheart, it was never your fault," Patrick told her.

"Yes, it was. I knew there was a problem and I kept myself willfully blind to it. It was unfair of me. You didn't deserve to be treated like that."

"Sweetheart, no. You were trying, but I wouldn't talk. I felt so undeserving of _you_. You'd given up a whole life to be with me. What if you discovered how very flawed I am? I was afraid it would change how you feel about me. I still can't believe you chose me, Shelagh. I'm old and worn out. If you had known about-"

"I wouldn't have loved you any less. I don't love you because you're perfect, dearest." There was another pause, and Timothy knew it was the kind of pause that he usually complained about at other times. After a few moments, his mother continued, "Patrick, I think this has made me love you _more_. I can hardly imagine what you must have gone through during the war. You suffered, but you've come through. You could have let yourself shut down, but you didn't. You came back, you returned to care for others in a place where so much care was needed. Let me share your fears, dearest. It will help both of us."

"I'll try, Shelagh. I can't promise I'll always be successful, but I will promise to trust you." He laughed quietly. "I owe Timothy an apology, too."

Satisfied, Timothy crept back up to his bed and slept well for the first night in a long time.

In the morning, things were back to normal. Late as usual to the breakfast table, Timothy stopped short at the sight he came upon in the kitchen.

"Would you two please stop it?" he demanded. "I don't think that sort of thing is _at all_ necessary."


	18. Chapter 18 A First Treasure

Author's Note: Finally, this is complete. I started off thinking this was going to be a fluff piece, like most of my stuff. But this one took hold of me, and required extra effort. Thank you all for reading, and the lovely reviews. I hope it has made as much sense to you as it did to me.

* * *

All it took was an afternoon. Just a few short hours and their family changed forever. A hasty lunch together as a family of three, then back into the world for medical calls and final preparations for the choir competition. Now, as the sun began to slip beyond the horizon of the sitting room windows, they sat close together, a family of four.

From the moment Patrick placed the tiny girl into his wife's arms, he knew how very right this all was. Just as he had been completely certain his life should be with Shelagh, he knew this baby should be theirs. No other baby would do, for she was their daughter. This past year with all its trials and triumphs had placed them all exactly where they were supposed to be, ready for her.

The pink and white bundle in Shelagh's arms began to stir. She made a sweet sound and pursed her rosebud lips. Shelagh sniffled. "She'll be wanting her bottle soon." She caressed the downy head and looked up at Patrick. "You can have her now. There's something I have to do first." Wiping her eyes behind her glasses, Shelagh smiled up at her husband. "What a wonderful day."

Patrick bent down to kiss his wife before gently shifting the baby in his arms. "Hello, baby girl," he cooed. "I'm your daddy."

"She winked at you, Dad!" Timothy whispered. So far, his new sister had settled in quietly, but Tim knew enough about babies to realize a startled infant could easily disturb that peace and quiet.

"Of course she did. She is my daughter, after all." He rubbed his thumb over the soft skin of her forearm. "You could wink right away, too, you know. You were practically a prodigy."

They laughed bounced his sister's tiny feet. "This is very good, Dad. Much better than a choir competition!"

"Just you wait, Tim. I have a feeling we'll be having a few late night concerts of our own. You might not prefer them."

Shelagh returned, carrying a small wooden chest. As Timothy took it and placed on the floor by his father he noticed her cheeks were again wet with tears. "Are you going to cry all the time?" he teased.

Shelagh laughed. "I can't help it. I've been given everything I ever dreamed of." She reached out and hugged him hard. "I love you, silly boy." As testament to his devotion to his stepmother, Timothy put his arms around her and hugged her back. Shelagh pulled away and asked, "Can you get it for me?"

He nodded. "In a jiffy," he grinned and took off for the hallway.

Patrick looked to his wife. "What are you two up to?" he asked, curious.

"It will make sense in a moment," Shelagh told him. She settled next to her husband, wrapping her hand around his arm and leaning her head against his shoulder. A broken sigh escaped her lips. "I am the luckiest woman in the world." Her fingers grazed over the baby's feet and she bent to kiss the tiny toes.

"I've got it," Tim announced, returning to the room. "Should we put it in the chest?" He held in his hands the bright felt sunflower they had found on the cot at the end of the row.

"How did you get that?" Patrick asked. He couldn't remember much from the nursery, only the feel of his daughter in his arms and the look on Shelagh's face when she held her for the first time. They had gone directly to Mrs. Litchcroft's office to sign the papers that made Angela theirs, and soon after, they were home.

"Timothy asked about it when you went to bring the car around." Shelagh took the flower in her hands and smoothed it on her lap. Her shoulders began to shake as she tried to control her emotions. Patrick put his arm around her, comforting her.

"It's all right, sweetheart," he soothed. His eyes closed against his own tears as she pressed her face into his shoulder.

"I wondered why none of the other cots had one," Tim told his father, "so I asked the nurse that brought us some supplies. She didn't know, she said the babies never usually had anything like that."

Shelagh looked up. "I realized it must be from her mother." Another tear slipped down her cheek.

Patrick smiled at his wife as he pulled her closer. "_You're_ Angela's mother, sweetheart. _We_ are her family. We were put together for a reason."

Shelagh gave him a watery smile. "Yes, dearest. I feel that way, too. But that poor girl…" She struggled to find words, fighting tears. "That poor girl must have such an enormous hole in her heart. To have to give up this precious gift. And she'll never be able to fill that emptiness. It breaks my heart to think what her life will be like."

"Love, she did a brave thing. She put herself second to her child." Patrick tenderly wiped tears from her cheek with his thumb. Shelagh would save everyone if she could, he thought. How blessed he was that she had chosen him. "Her gift to Angela is so much more than this sunflower. She gave her hope. Now it's our job to help fulfill that precious legacy."

Shelagh beamed up at him and he knew he had said just the right thing to ease her distress. She reached up and caressed his cheek. "I'm so very lucky to have you, Patrick."

"Um, this is all very nice, but I'd feel lucky if you could wait for the kissing part until later, maybe?" Tim interjected.

His parents laughed. Shelagh wiped her eyes again, and handed her boy the sunflower. "You do it, Timmy. You found her first treasure, so you should put it in her memory box."

Timothy opened the old wooden box and placed the felt flower at its satin-lined bottom. "There's a lot of space in here. I suppose that's because it's all in front of us now, isn't it?"


End file.
